Echo
by riveriver
Summary: Merlin is always going where Arthur can never follow, and yet, Arthur is always there. Based on The Time Traveler's Wife.
1. Chapter One

**Friday, August 21, 2009**  
><strong>(Arthur is 23, Merlin is 21)<strong>

Merlin resolves to make a break for it as soon as his hand is out of the clammy, unrelenting grip of his mother's lawyer, who just happens to be an unsympathetic and soul-sucking bastard. He's sat in the meeting with the senior for long enough, and he can no longer bring himself to care about who is getting what and what is going where. He's taking what is his, and he is running, and it seems as long as Aredian gets his hourly fee that he couldn't give a bigger shit about it all either.

After an anti-climatic '_So everything but the donations to the charity is yours_' the meeting ends and they shake hands, and somehow Merlin manages to ask for directions back down to the reception in between being ushered out of the office and mumbling his own half-hearted comments of appreciation. Mr. Aredian Dance simply looks at Merlin as if he really is the idiot he had believed him to be from the moment Merlin had stumbled into the room and points him in the right direction with a sneer.

Once Merlin's out of the senior's way, he's all but sprinting down the stairs towards the revolving doors and into the cold, typical English weather, determined to find a pub (preferably not the one in which Freya works) where he can sprawl out unceremoniously across the bar and consume more than twice his body weight in shots and beer and those god-awful coloured alcopops the youth of London tend to drown themselves in. He's not quite sure what will happen afterwards, but he knows that it will involve crawling back to his flat to curl up and die quietly. He hopes.

So when his plans have to be abandoned the moment somebody decides to grab his arm and keep him from breaking through the fancy doors, Merlin mutters something about Sod's law under his breath as he spins around to eye the sleeve of the expensive suit which is hanging from the arm clinging to his own.

"Merlin," somebody breathes.

Merlin slowly pulls his eyes up to a face of a good-looking blonde the arm's attached to, and he can't help but wonder what he has possibly said or done to this poor man who is staring at him with a dumb, astonished look. What has he promised this time?

Merlin only manages a frown before he's drawn into the man's strong arms. His surprised yelps covers whatever uncertain reply he was about to spew out.

"_Jesus._ It's you, it's really you," Mr. Expensive Suit murmurs as Merlin clumsily pats the man's back. Stupidly, he hopes that it will appease the man long enough to make him let go. Merlin tries to pull away, but he's being held so tightly that it actually becomes rather flattering instead of completely downright worrying, and it's already weird enough as it is at this point, thank you very much. So he hangs there awkwardly, allowing himself be embraced.

Merlin only really begins to worry when the blonde starts to caress the back of his neck and he whispers, "I love you," again and again into his ear after added variations of, "I've looked everywhere," and Merlin swallows nervously. He wonders how drunk he must have been when he met this fine piece of ass to have forgotten him so readily.

"I'm really sorry, but—"

He swallows the rest of it. The man holds him out at arm's length and his blue eyes push the words back into his mouth.

Merlin looks bewildered and hopes he also seems appropriately ridden with guilt as he says, "Sorry, I'm gonna sound like a right dick, but, um, do I know you?"

The words make the man drop Merlin like hot coal, but Merlin's focus is not on him—he's busy anxiously checking their surroundings for people who may overhear their conversation and hear Merlin being a bastard to this devastatingly beautiful angel who has all but dropped to his feet and begun a ritual of worship.

The blonde looks sheepish; he's stolen the expression Merlin should be wearing. "I'm Arthur," he says, and then when Merlin opens his mouth, "No, no, I know you don't know me."

"Arthur," Merlin ventures slowly as he warily pulls him to the side of the room (who seems all too happy to be manhandled), away from the view of a curious receptionist and a few clients who are waiting to be chaperoned into their meetings.

"Arthur," he says again in the same careful tone once he has them out of earshot. "I'm sorry. How did we...?"

Merlin thinks that the other man suddenly looks as if he's at a complete loss and like he is almost going to be sick, but Arthur straightens himself and says around his disappointment, "I've known you since I was a kid," as if that settles it all.

"Ah, right," Merlin says as if it does, even though it doesn't. This man clearly knows him – very well, at that – but as far as Merlin can remember, he's never clapped eyes on him in his life. He runs a hand through his unruly hair and closes his eyes for a brief second. He owes this guy something. _Anything. _"Do you want to go and get a coffee, or something?"

Arthur nods a little stiffly and seems to think nothing of it as he laces his fingers through Merlin's and pulls him out of the building, across the busy London street, to the left, and then into a large, conveniently located Starbucks.

Arthur is a bag of nerves as he orders both of them cappuccinos and sticks his card into the terminal and then escorts Merlin to a table at the very back of the coffeehouse. It's all very quite endearing.

They sit in silence, during which Arthur fidgets nervously and pulls at the sleeves of his suit as if he is suddenly embarrassed but his eyes never leave Merlin's face, while Merlin can't understand why he doesn't feel as uncomfortable with this situation as he should be. He clutches his paper coffee cup with both hands to his chest for warmth and remembers with sudden clarity that only moments ago he was intent on getting hammered.

A coffee drink would have to do, for now.

"Arthur," he starts all over again. He can't think of anything else to say.

"How do I know you?" Arthur smiles and visibly relaxes, but only slightly. He nods to himself, just as Merlin nods in response. "I was seven. You were... actually, I don't know, but you were a little older than you are now."

"Right. So you know about... _me_. You know-I mean, who... _what_ I am and everything?"

"Yeah, I've always known," Arthur says. "Everybody tried to convince me that you were imaginary, what with you being called Merlin, and me Arthur, you know? Although I'm pretty sure Morgana saw you when I was ten, although she never said anything... Anyway, I couldn't be convinced that you weren't real any longer, so they all gave up in the end."

"And Morgana is...?"

"My sister. She's a bitch, but you can't pick your family, right?"

Merlin dips his head, allowing the point, and sets his paper cup onto the table. He still hasn't touched a drop, and neither has Arthur.

"How old are you?" Arthur asks. "Are you travelling? Where are you coming from?"

"I'm 21," Merlin says with a small, amused smile. "I'm not travelling, which means your third question is invalid."

Arthur doesn't laugh. For the first time, he's truly rendered speechless and he gapes at Merlin, his eyes wide and his mouth open.

Merlin clears his throat, trying to snap Arthur out of it. "How old are you?" he asks, trying to be polite.

"I'm..." His hands suddenly come down onto the table. "Shit, Merlin, are you really 21? You serious? You're not travelling?" he demands incredulously, but it isn't aggressive, and Merlin finds himself still smiling in spite of it all.

"Is it a problem?"

"What? No! But, Jesus, _really_?"

Merlin can't figure out what Arthur thinks is so surprising, so he goes for his first guess. "Is this the youngest you've seen me?"

Arthur nods again, watching as Merlin gathers his cup into his hands once more. "I mean, but—Merlin, you don't _look_ 21."

"You don't look 21, either," Merlin offers. "How old are you?"

"I'm 23."

It's impossible to miss the strange tone to Arthur's voice. "How's that turning out for you? Is it weird?"

Arthur gives a noncommittal shrug. "You've always been the older one."

"So it is weird then."

They share a grin, and then Merlin finally takes a long drink. He sighs happily after he swallows and leans back into his seat, wondering what he had honestly done in his past life to deserve this man who seems to think Merlin is his personal Jesus.

"Do you live in London?"

"I've got a pad in Chelsea," Arthur says anxiously, and he seems happy when Merlin doesn't gape about how much money he must have – because, clearly, Arthur is filthy rich. "What about you?"

"Battersea, but the crap end."

"Are you telling me," Arthur begins slowly, "that you more or less live acrossthe fucking_ Thames _from me?"

"It would, uh... It would seem so?"

"Shit!" Arthur cries, and several heads in the coffeehouse turn, but being British, nobody says anything and they merely raise their eyebrows in disapproval. Arthur ignores them. "That's not fair! You said London, but..."

"I did?"

"You said we would meet in London, that it would happen when it would happen."

"Sounds annoying."

"You were a little infuriating then, yes."

Merlin can't fight another smile. "When did you last see me?"

"Four years ago, give or take. I was just going to start my first year of university. I took a gap year."

Merlin whistles. _Long time_. "Wow. How old was I?"

"You were about 30," Arthur says, and he laughs lightly when Merlin pulls a disgruntled face. "You never said. You just told me that it would be a while until we saw one another again, that it would be when we were both in the present, together. You know, not travelling. You warned me what to do, what to say, how to handle it, although I must say you are taking it better than you said you would – I think you were convinced that it wouldn't happen the same way twice, but of course, it would, wouldn't it? I've been waiting for this day for... God. You told me to take it easy on you. Am I taking it easy on you?"

It takes a second for Merlin to catch up. "Apart from the incessant babbling and throwing yourself on me in front of all those rich people, yes, you are."

Arthur turns a light shade of pink. "I'm sorry about that."

"It's okay. Coffee's turned out to be more appealing than what I was imagining doing to my liver."

"Shit," Arthur exclaims again, and then it dawns on him. "Why were you at my father's law firm?"

Merlin nearly spits his cappuccino all over Arthur. "Your _father_?"

"Yes. Uther Pendragon."

"You're a Pendragon," Merlin breathes, as if it should have been completely obvious. "Of course you are."

"Why were you there?"

Merlin looks uncomfortable for the first time and set his coffee cup down. "My mum died," he says after a long, torturous moment, keeping his eyes averted from the pity that he expects to be shining in Arthur's. "Some bastard, one of the senior lawyers – Aredian – was her lawyer."

"I know him," Arthur says. He reaches out for one of Merlin's hands and holds it tightly in both of his across the table, eyes soft as he gazes at Merlin.

Merlin stares down at their hands, absurdly grateful that Arthur hasn't offered an apology or his condolences like every other person. It's oddly refreshing. "Let me take you out," he says instead. "Later. Tomorrow. Soon. Pizza. Chinese. Anything."

All of this was been so easy and new and completely overwhelming that Merlin can't bring himself to refuse, and they arrange to meet at Clapham Junction the following evening at half past seven, because Arthur says he loves the all-you-can-eat Chinese Buffet Restaurant nearby. They exchange numbers and Arthur seems so beside himself with joy it makes Merlin feel incredible, because the man is simply happy Merlin that has said yes.

"I know you can't promise, but at least promise me you'll try?" Arthur asks. "I'll wait. You know, if something happens."

Something in Arthur's voice tells Merlin that all Arthur probably does is wait, and while he feels pleased, guilt settles heavily in his stomach. "I'd appreciate that," Merlin says. "I'll be there."

Arthur beams.

They stand. Arthur's cappuccino is still untouched and warm and he leaves it behind without a second thought, but Merlin's still clinging to his gratefully as they head for the door, wondering if he should go back for Arthur's, if it'd be expectant of the public of London to accept a man at the Tube station drinking from two cups. He could probably get away with it, he thinks-

"Tomorrow? You sure?"

Merlin's awkwardly huddling into his coat as he holds his cup, his train of thought lost as he nods eagerly. "Of course," he says, and Arthur believes him.

"About what you said earlier," Arthur says, jerking his head towards the coffee. He seems worried. "No pubs, okay? It... sets you off."

Merlin frowns. "It does?"

"Yeah."

"You better tell me about it tomorrow."

Arthur smiles again and Merlin smiles, too, because he's made this guy absurdly happy and it makes him want to _fight_. He doesn't want to carry on simply surviving anymore. In less than half an hour, a complete stranger has made him want to live and be somebody worth remembering because this stranger, this gorgeous stranger wants to spend time with him.

"Tomorrow," Arthur agrees. He leans forward a little, eyes locked onto Merlin's own, studying him.

_This is it_, Merlin thinks, and then he stops thinking altogether as Arthur's lips press ever so softly to his own. They linger to the point where Merlin is ready to drop his coffee, but then Arthur is gone, running through busy Westminster, looking completely insane but as if he's just won the lottery. He even punches the air.

Merlin watches him go. He is near tears and he doesn't know why, but he manages to find his way to the tube station without falling.


	2. Chapter Two

**Saturday, August 22, 2009**  
><strong>(Arthur is 23, Merlin is 21)<strong>

With an exasperated groan, another set of jeans are thrown over Merlin's head. It should seem impossible that they look exactly the same as his other three pairs, but they do anyway, and by the time they land heavily onto the matching heap of fabric on his bed, Merlin's already rifling through his wardrobe again. It's five o'clock in the afternoon and, although he'd never admit it, he's been looking for something decent to wear for nearly an hour already.

He thinks about calling Gwen to demand she come over to help him, but Gwen has never been one for subtlety; Merlin knows that by the time he finds Arthur at the station and they amble off to the Chinese restaurant together that everybody and their mother – including Lance, and thereby Gwaine – will know that Merlin's going out with somebody who just happens to be an heir to the famous Pendragon fortune.

"Stop it," he scolds himself out loud. "Get a grip."

Merlin decides against reaching for his phone. He'll do this one by himself, whether it kills him or not.

He shouts at his wardrobe that he'll be back to tackle it later and storms out of his room to have a shower and a shave.

It's some kind of miracle that Merlin manages to arrive outside of Clapham Junction railway station at all, let alone ten minutes late. It seemed that public transport always turned unreliable when he actually had somewhere to be. Merlin had ended up getting off the bus and he'd sprinted along Lavender Hill for the last half mile.

He's in the black suit he wore for his mother's funeral three weeks ago with a white shirt, hell-bent on giving his clothes some happier memories. He's without a tie, and the collar band is unfastened, as is the next button, and he's decidedly looking like a too-skinny, gay and overall bad impression of Tom Welling from one of the Smallville season finales. He doesn't care – he's only praying that Arthur won't turn up in jeans and a hoodie, because that had been Merlin's next option.

"'m sorry," Merlin pants. He's bent in front of Arthur with a hand on his knee while the other holds up a finger to silence him so he can explain. "Stupid bus – stupid TfL – swear they hate on me when I actually manage to have a social life – stopped at every bloody bus stop. I got off. Ran."

Arthur looks thoroughly entertained as he eyes Merlin. "You ran? In a suit? Through Battersea?"

"I probably looked like a complete arse. I didn't want you to think that I wouldn't come."

"It's okay. I said I'd wait. That's why I took your number, Merlin, and then gave you mine," Arthur says amusedly, "so I could pester you until you did, or so you can ring me if you need help."

Merlin pulls himself up, though he's still breathing heavily. It hadn't been the answer he'd expected. He laughs. "Right."

"Wanna go?"

"Sure."

They walk up the Junction's hill, towards the traffic lights, close enough that their arms bump with every step. In a bid for some self control, Merlin shoves his hands deep into his pockets, and Arthur smiles at him and does the same. It's nothing short of one more miracle, Merlin thought, that Arthur's in a suit, too, and no tie. They look like two casual businessmen coming home from work on a Saturday, and as Merlin steals glances at Arthur, he finds he looked insanely good-looking and impossibly better than yesterday's memory. He's fascinated.

"Er – where's the place? The thingy?"

"Just down here, right on Lavender Hill. See it? Gotta cross the road." Arthur pauses, attacking the push-button unit impatiently with his finger so the lights will change and they can cross the road. "Really, who has to request to cross the road," he mutters angrily to himself as he all but breaks the button, and then the lights changed and they're greeted with the green man signal and Arthur pulls his arm out of his pocket to rest it on the small of Merlin's back as they cross.

Clearly, Arthur's one of those people who are under the impression that if they press things a lot, they get through life faster.

"Merlin, do you really like Chinese or were you just humouring me because I said I liked it?" Arthur asks when they are on the other side of the road. His hand stays on Merlin's back until they are being shown to their seats by an overly happy Chinese woman at the restaurant.

"Honest. I can't get enough," Merlin says as he takes his chair.

"Thank God."

It isn't an overly-expensive restaurant, for which Merlin is both grateful and glad. Arthur's, too. He says something about not looking out of place and that he loves this place because it's impossible to pig out on unlimited good food for a set prince in the posh places his father takes him and Morgana to on special occasions, but Merlin is so busy staring at Arthur's face that he isn't really listening to him babble on about the finer details.

They order drinks, both settling for Coke, because Arthur glares at Merlin dangerously just as he's about to ask for a bottle of beer and Merlin can't bring himself to argue. They are given their plates and told to head to the buffet when they feel like it and to enjoy their meal and it is Arthur who smiles politely and thanks the waiter, because Merlin's staring him again.

"Okay – what's the deal?" Arthur asks.

"Just... I can't work you out."

"What do you want to know?"

Merlin grins. He can play this game. "Tell me what you know about me."

"You're Merlin. You're 21. You're forever appearing in the trees beyond my back yard, but for the first time in my life you're not travelling – you're here, with me, which to be honest I can still scarcely believe."

"Is that all? I'm disappointed."

"No, it's not, but I'm too scared to tell you anything I'm not supposed to in case the universe starts falling to pieces and we're lost forever. I cherish my childhood too much, thanks."

They laugh, and it's a carefree sound that floats through the restaurant.

"C'mon, let's get some food, and then you can decide what you can and can't tell me while we stack our plates high with food that we'll never finish."

"You want a bet? I could live in this place."

They stand up and go to the buffet. Merlin heaves two kinds of rice, prawn crackers, beef chow mein, shredded crispy chilli beef, sweet and sour chicken balls, and some more rice onto his plate. Arthur follows him round the hot bar as he gets three kinds of rice and twice the amount of prawn crackers Merlin does for himself, shooting him an unspoken dare as he does it. He piles beef chow mein, shredded crispy chilli beef, sweet and sour chicken balls and, unbelievably, _chips_ onto his plate and together they struggle to get back to the table without spilling anything, but they do it, and they look like greedy children all the while.

"What can you tell me, then?"

"Your father left before your first birthday. You only ever spoke of him once." Arthur twirls the fork in his hand. "You were drunk."

Merlin has the decency to look ashamed. "Shit. Sorry."

"Don't be. I'm not. It was one of the best days of my life."

"How old were you?"

"16."

Merlin's gulp is visible and he stabs at his food with new-found energy, ignoring how Arthur's cheeks are reddening.

"What else?" Merlin manages to choke out.

"You never went to uni. You struggled through school, but it was mainly because you missed out on a lot. You know. Disappearing, and stuff. You still managed to pass every single GCSE. You're actually rather quite intelligent."

"Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment."

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur snorts, rolling his eyes.

They ate with smiles on their faces, and Merlin finds that it really isn't as awkward as he had envisioned it to be while he had fumbled with his belt back at the flat. He's enjoying himself.

"Did you go? To uni?"

"I've just finished my undergrad at UCL with a first and honours," Arthur says casually. "I got accepted into Oxford and Cambridge and Imperial, too, but UCL is closer to home and Imperial only offer hard sciences. I'm going to do my post-grad vocational there too."

"Jesus. What are you studying?"

"Law, of course. I did a four-year LLB in Law with Advanced Studies."

There's an overwhelming sense of guilt eating away at Merlin again, because he can't help but feel that Arthur had taken a place at UCL because of him – because of the man of his past who barged his way into a little boy's life. UCL isn't even half an hour down the road. It's ridiculously close. Arthur could have flown through any one of the best universities in the UK without having to settle for UCL.

"I know what you're thinking, Merlin. Not going to Oxbridge was my own choice. Besides, you helped me get in."

"I did?"

"Sure. You were always helping me with my homework, studying for tests with me, making Science and Art projects, filling out college and Sixth Form applications. It was inevitable you'd help with me with my UCAS."

"Oh. Wow. Do I get to spend my whole life doing your work?"

Arthur grins. "We had fun. At least, I did. You had a neat reward system."

"I'm sure I did, too. I'm sure I _will_," Merlin says, choosing to ignore the last comment.

"You seemed like you did," Arthur replies between his mouthful. "Seemed like you will. Whatever."

"God. This is annoying. I bet I told you not to tell me anything spectacular about yourself."

"You did say that, actually."

"Great."

"Only some stuff, though."

Merlin brightens somewhat. "Ah, well, then. Tell me _everything_."

Arthur snickers. "Nice try."

"It was. Can you at least—Arthur, what's the oldest I've been? When you've seen me?"

Arthur sets down his fork and takes a long draught of his Coke to avoid the pain of answering. "Uh, well," he says when he sets down his glass, too. "I'm not sure. I think I can tell you."

"Please. Do."

"I don't want to," he murmurs. He is sombre and guarded now, and Merlin doesn't like it.

"Why not?"

"I don't want to upset you."

"That just makes me think it's something bad."

"It's really not," Arthur assures earnestly. His fingers jerk a little, and Merlin's sure he's restraining himself to not reach out for Merlin's hands again. "I just don't want you waiting around to hit that age, just moving through life, just surviving until that point, especially since you have the luxury of knowing through me. I don't want that for you."

"I'm sorry," Merlin whispers, and he sighs.

They are quiet for a while, pushing the food around on their plates. They look up at the same time and regard each other.

"You look like you've been having a hard time," Arthur says.

Merlin chooses not to answer. Not directly, at least. "I'm sorry," he says again. "It was wrong of me to put you on the spot like that. I just... I feel like I should know. I'm always running. Always leaving. I sometimes find myself wondering if I ever just _stop_, y'know? I want to know. At least, I think I want to know."

"I know."

Merlin finds it in him to smile as he absently twists chow mein around his fork. "Tell me something else. Something about you. _This_ you, sitting in front of me – not the kid waiting for me to visit him to help him with his homework."

"It wasn't all like that," Arthur says with a hint of indignation.

"Oh? What was it like?" Merlin asks, happy he's managed to distract Arthur.

"It was my life," he replies simply, and perhaps a little dramatically, but it's as plain as day that he means every word. It reminds Merlin of Lance. "It _is_ my life. You were always there, being whatever I needed you to be. My best friend, confidant, brother, object of my obsession. You were a parental figure in the early days."

"Oh, bugger," Merlin said, because he couldn't quite get his head around acting like a father for this sex god who sat before him.

Arthur smiles knowingly. "It's okay. It passes quickly."

"What about your dad, though? The one who hires bastard lawyers?"

"He's... yeah. Filthy rich and posh."

"You don't care for him much?"

"Oh, I do, but he's a winner who's married to his work. After mum died he more or less chained himself to the front of the offices and palmed Morgana and I off onto Rose."

"Rose?"

"The nanny."

"You are posh."

"My family is posh. I don't take great pleasure in it, but there are perks," Arthur retorts, and he pushes his plate away. Neither of them have hardly eaten anything.

Merlin eyes Arthur. "Do you want to go?"

"God, yes."

They drain their drinks, and Arthur pays after handing Merlin a slap as he declares that he was the one who asked Merlin out. Merlin laughs and rubs the back of his head as they leave the restaurant.

"Your place or mine?"

Merlin's stomach lurches and he shrugs. "I'm closer."

"Good, because I don't think I can hold off until we get to Chelsea."

Clapham Junction's already bursting with Saturday nightlife. Black taxis fill the streets and groups of women are running by in their extravagant high heels to catch their bus or train. There are London teenagers everywhere, and Merlin groans as he and Arthur shuffled through a loud gang of hooded smokers.

"You don't like kids?" Arthur asks with a glint in his eye.

"I'm going to have to, aren't I?"

"You better."

They decide not to get the bus and instead they hail a taxi. Merlin gives his address. The driver is a grumpy sod who eyes Merlin and Arthur itching towards each other in the backseat closely every so often as he pushes the cab through the traffic. Nearly twenty minutes later, they are out of the cab and Merlin thrusts a fistful of cash through the window and they are hurrying through the cold to the block of flats.

"I swear my place isn't a shithole."

"Don't care," Arthur says as they get into the elevator.

Then they are on the seventh floor in another matter of minutes and Merlin is jiggling his key in the lock so they can get through the door. When they do, Arthur wanders around the flat, smiling to himself as he looks around, and Merlin bolts his door and fumbles with the other three chains. Arthur doesn't ask. He has already shrugged out of his jacket.

"Drink?"

"You can't," Arthur protests from the living room.

But Merlin is already in the kitchen and wrenching the caps off two beers as he calls back, "Aw, let me have one."

"You're clean," Arthur observes as he is handed a bottle.

Merlin thinks of the state he left his bedroom in and bites his lip. "I try," he says, and he falls exhaustedly onto his sofa and kicks off his shoes. He sighs happily, overwhelmed and happier than he can ever remember being.

Arthur shuffles on his feet, holding his bottle awkwardly. "Is this too fast?"

Merlin holds out his hand and pulls Arthur down next to him. Arthur sets his beer on the table next to Merlin's. "No." He sighs again and closes his eyes as Arthur's fingers trail longingly, slow and languid, around his palm, and then his cheek, his lips and then his jaw and Merlin turns towards Arthur and watches him through half-lidded eyes.

"I still can't get over you being this... _young._"

A smirk plays at Merlin's lips. "Is it still weirding you out?"

"I think I got over it when you turned up in a suit. I was certain you'd be in jeans and a hoodie."

"I nearly did."

"Me, too," Arthur admits and he laughs softly. "I'm glad we didn't. It made me very nearly ask you to take me back to your flat before we'd even crossed the road."

Merlin tries to swallow, but can't through the weight of emotions he's feeling. He mumbles something unintelligible that is probably very close to agreement.

"Hey. You alright?" Arthur studies Merlin and his fingers reach up to trace a prominent cheekbone. Merlin doesn't answer. He lets the silence hang between them, enjoying the feel of Arthur mapping patterns on his skin.

It's easy, being with Arthur. It's easy, allowing himself to be loved this way, so unexpectedly, so freely without question. He nods and stretches for Arthur's hip. In one sudden, unexpected fluid movement, he is on his back and he's shifting Arthur on top of him. They feel one another; they're both hard.

"I can't believe it's you," Arthur says in the same quiet voice as he opens Merlin's shirt with deft fingers. "It's going to be alright. It's going to be okay." He sounds as if he's finally reassured of something.

"Have we...?"

Arthur spreads his hand flat against Merlin's chest. "Mm. Merlin... Fuck, I've missed you."

Merlin pulls Arthur to him, desperate and needy, and between breaths Arthur whispers something about how he's been waiting for too long. They kiss with slow, tentative movements at first, licking sweetly into one another's mouths, but it turns out that Arthur is just as hungry for this as Merlin, and then their lips are moving together so fiercely that Merlin's fit to burst. Fingers run along waistbands and exposed skin, tugging frantically at fabric that's in the way, and legs wrap round one another tightly, refusing to lose their leverage.

Arthur palms Merlin's erection through his trousers and Merlin vaguely realises that Arthur knows exactly what to do and where exactly to tease because, yes, he's done it before.

They don't make it beyond the sofa.


	3. Chapter Three

**Wednesday, October 20, 1993**

**(Arthur is 7, Merlin is 24)**

It's the first time for Arthur when he is sitting in a field behind the house, tugging at grass and mumbling angrily to himself because his father won't let him sign up for karate lessons with Leon. There have been relentless late night screaming matches, pillows thrown, doors kicked and tears shed – all mainly by Arthur – because Uther is insistent that Arthur is too young. He doesn't listen when Arthur says that he already knows how to block Leon's strikes – he had no choice but to learn; his best friend is _always _showing off in the playground.

Arthur is seven-years-old – which is not young at all, he mumbles as he throws piles of grass into the air. Leon has been going to karate for nearly _one whole year_ already and Arthur so desperately wants to start. He cannot help but feel indignant that his father thinks that he is incapable and that it will be a waste of time and money, even though they have plenty of both. Leon already knows complicated blocks and strikes and Arthur wants to learn it too, because it's all Leon ever talks about, and because Leon is his best friend and best friends are meant to do things _together_.

His hand swoops down to attack the next lot of grass when a deep voice asks, "Having a hard day?"

Arthur can do nothing but splutter angrily at the stupid question. Shouldn't it be obvious that he is? He decides that he needs to be more vicious with the grass to prove it a little more. "I know how that feels," the voice says, and there is a sort of weary humour to his tone that makes Arthur twist himself around angrily.

"Adults think they know everything," Arthur spits. His hands are flat on the ground, pushing his body up because he's finally felt the wet patch on his red shorts; it only rained yesterday and the ground is still nourishing itself, and he's hovering just above it so he won't get even more soggy in case people start thinking that he's peed himself. He doesn't want to be laughed at any more.

Arthur stares up at the man with defiant eyes, daring him to challenge his statement.

"I know that you're going to need to change your shorts and that you're also going to get very dirty hands."

Arthur's defiance turns to astonishment that this man _really _wants to carry on annoying him, and he thumps back onto the grass.

The man smiles and Arthur notices his eyes crinkle slightly around the edges like Gaius' eyes do, except this man is much, much younger and apparently much more carefree, unlike their reserved family doctor. He has unruly raven hair and blue eyes and, Arthur thinks, rather huge ears, and he has to swallow a snappy remark about them, because it's not just his ears that deserve a mention. He's dressed weirdly. He's got no shoes and he's wearing a really large, pink woman's jumper that swamps him. His black trousers that are the opposite – they're too tight, like they're meant to fit a child. He looks uncomfortable.

"You also have grass in your hair. It'll be stuck to your shorts, too," Big Ears says, and he crouches down awkwardly next to Arthur on one knee and begins picking slivers of green out of his soft blonde hair. The action is so delicate and careful that Arthur momentarily forgets that he's supposed to be angry. When he does remember, he shakes his head so fervently that his mop of hair smacks the sides of his head and the man retracts his hand. It hangs in mid-air for a second and then falls limply to the side of his bent knee.

"I didn't wet myself!" he cries at the stranger.

"I didn't say you did," Big Ears says softly, the blue of his eyes dancing amusedly.

"Did!" Arthur cries like a petulant child as it's all he can think to say. He's angry again because Big Ears has interrupted his brooding, and he can't help but think that if his father let him go to karate then he could scare this man off with some handy kicks and strikes.

Big Ears falls onto his behind laughing and spreads in front of Arthur. He's tall, and he spreads his legs to the side and leans back on his elbows. His tight trousers come above his ankles. "Why are you upset? What's happened? Bad day at school?" he asks.

Arthur's frowning. He's uneasy with how comfortable this stranger is, how caring and loving and concerned he sounds. Arthur's never had that before. "Who are you?"

There is a silence in which Big Ears stares at Arthur for an immeasurable amount of time before realisation takes a hold of his features. It is quickly followed by a flicker of unjustifiable hurt, but he covers it just as quickly and straightens up. "Oh, shit," he says.

"You swore!" Arthur marvels.

"Um, yeah, sorry," he says quickly, and he runs a hand through his black hair. "Don't tell." Then Big Ears grins. It doesn't quite reach his eyes and it's a little shaky, but Arthur doesn't notice.

"Who are you?" Arthur asks again, and there is a demanding edge to his voice now. He sounds like his father.

Big Ears extends the same hand he used to pick grass out of Arthur's hair and smiles tentatively. It's friendly and warm. "I'm Merlin."

Arthur doesn't take it. He stands and stares down at the stranger. "I think I should go, my fa... –"

"No, don't," Merlin says quickly. "I'm sorry – this is new, you never told me –"

"But I don't know you," he says, confused.

Big Ears – Merlin – smiles and it seems to come easier to him now. "Oh, you do. We're friends," he says.

"No, we're not," Arthur insists impatiently. "I don't know who you are."

"I'm a time traveller. We're friends – in the future," he amends.

"There's no such thing," Arthur says, but he sits back down anyway and winces at how cold his bum feels, trying to ignore the squelch his shorts make.

"Sure there is. I'm an amazing time traveller," Merlin says.

"Prove it."

"Your name's Arthur Pendragon. Your birthday is the 4th of December. You live with your father, and your sister, Morgana, who you don't like very much because she's annoying and she picks on you. You have a nanny, Rose, who you... –"

"Everybody knows that," Arthur interrupts. "I bet you got told that."

"Okay," Merlin says, fidgeting slightly. "Your best friend is Leon – you've always wanted to do karate together – and when you're in Year 3, you... –"

"I do karate?"

Merlin smiles – he's finally captured Arthur hook, line and sinker, even though he knows Arthur only attends a month's worth of sessions before he gets bored and gives up the dream. He's been told. "You will."

"Tell the truth!"

"I am, Arthur."

"Well. I don't believe you. How did you get here?"

"I... appeared. I do it a lot, and then I disappear."

"Are you going to disappear now?"

"Do you want me to?"

Arthur considers this. "You just got here," he says, and he edges forward because this is all too interesting. "You still have to tell me how you got into my garden!"

"I just appeared," Merlin says, smiling as he scratches the hair on his jaw. Arthur can't help but notice that he has more hair there than even his father does – and that's saying something.

"Can you tell me about karate?"

"Er – okay. What do you want to know?"

"You're the time traveller!"

Big Ears laughs. "Right, so I am."

"Stupid."

In fact, Merlin is feeling stupid, because obviously there was a reason why there were no clothes in a box waiting for him under the usual stone amidst the trees. There hadn't even been a stone, let alone the box. Of course it's because it's the first time Arthur has met him. He can't believe it hadn't crossed his mind when he was leaping over garden fences and stealing clothes from unsuspecting neighbours as he tried to get warm before he found Arthur.

"Do I get to do karate? Am I allowed?"

"You'll have to see."

"You're so annoying! I'm going!"

"Arthur, wait."

"Explain why you're in silly clothes if you're that amazing!" the little boy says, because it's bugging him that a supposedly amazing time traveller looks so damn stupid.

Merlin feels guilty that his first thoughts are of his Arthur in his bed wearing Merlin's hoodie.

"When I time travel, I can't take my clothes with me."

What is he thinking? This innocent kid before him _is _his Arthur.

Arthur's eyebrows furrow. "That's kind of stupid," he comments, and Merlin almost smiles, because the twenty-something Arthur at home doesn't think that it's stupid at all. "Why'dya pick something _pink_ to wear?"

"It's ugly, but it's warm. I don't think your neighbours will miss it for a while. Besides, I'm not going to take it with me when I leave, am I? You can take it back and say it blew into your garden."

"You're leaving?"

"No, but I will, soon."

Arthur's staring at Merlin as if he's trying to work something out, and then his frown lifts. "Hey! You're wearing Mrs. Cole's jumper!"

"Ugh, really?" Merlin exclaims, his nose wrinkling in disgust. "Mrs. Cole with the nasty handbag dog?"

"And her son who has lots of... um – er, ackey. Atnee."

"Acne."

"Yeah, that."

"He's covered in it, I know. Forrester, right?"

Arthur nods, and then they murmur, "Stupid name," at the same time and smile. They're still on the grass. Merlin is lounging leisurely, and Arthur is holding his knees.

"How d'ya know Mrs Cole and Forrester?"

"I told you. I'm a time traveller."

Arthur snorts, still disbelieving. "Right. Sure."

"I thought you believed me, huh?"

"Stuff like that only happens on television."

"How did I know that you want to start karate, then?"

"You follow me around. You're like one of those ladies who follows my dad for his money."

There's a burst of laughter. "If you wait around long enough, you'll see me disappear in a minute."

Arthur's hooked again. "Really? Will you come back to tell me some more stuff about when I'm older?" he says, because if this man does come back, Arthur wants to know _everything._ He wants to know whether Morgana will go to boarding school and whether his father will send him away, too. He wants to know if his father is really going to get re-married, and if he and Leon stay best friends forever. He wants to know.

"Yeah. I'll be here on Monday."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. I'll be here when you finish karate," Merlin says lightly, and he winks.

Arthur's eyes shine. "I knew I'd get to do it! Do you promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Merlin says with a smile. He knows this is working because Arthur told him that he truly believed Merlin from the moment he promised that Arthur would start going to karate with Leon. He stands and helps Arthur to his feet. "Just bug your dad a little more, alright?"

Arthur grins toothily. "Alright."

"You believe me now?"

"Sure!"

"Good. I'm gonna disappear now, alright?"

"Alright," Arthur says again, half-thinking that Merlin will to go into the trees and 'disappear'. He stares up at him expectantly.

"It was nice meeting you again, Arthur. I'll see you on Monday, alright?"

Merlin holds out his hand. This time, Arthur shakes it. "You better keep your promise."

"You'll do karate, don't worry," Merlin says as he takes a step back. He's dizzy now, swaying on his feet, and he knows that it is only moments until he is gone. "Make sure you change your shorts, alright?"

"I told you I didn't wet myself!" Arthur cries.

Merlin laughs, and then the black trousers and Mrs Cole's jumper fall into a pile where his bare feet were. He's gone before the sound of his laugh is.

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>_Merlin_ is produced by Shine Television for the BBC and belongs to Julian Jones, Jake Michie, Julian Murphy and Johnny Capps.

_The Time Traveler's Wife_ by Audrey Niffenegger is completely her own work, and I own nothing. I am making no profit.


	4. Chapter Four

**Sunday, August 23, 2009**

**(Arthur is 23, Merlin is 21)**

When Arthur wakes, it takes him a long while for him to remember where he is and how he got there. When he does, he's grinning gleefully from ear to ear.

Here they are, finally in the present, in real time, together at last for the world to see.

Merlin's snoring softly with his face pressed into Arthur's shoulder. He's curled behind him on the sofa with a leg between Arthur's and with an arm hooked tightly around his waist, enclosing him, keeping him. Their legs are hanging off the edge of the sofa and it shouldn't be comfortable, but it is, and Arthur doesn't want to move.

He's still grinning as he drifts back into sleep.

The next time he opens his eyes, he's sprawled out over most of the sofa with an arm over his eyes and his first thought is to panic. He's alone.

He shoots up and his neck hurts. "Merlin?" he calls, loud and hoarse. His voice is laced with panic, but he's grateful he isn't as confused as he was before.

"Kitchen!" comes as a reply, and then Arthur's bounding through the flat, following the smell of bacon like a bee drawn to honey.

"I thought you'd gone," Arthur says when he finds Merlin, his throat thick with sleep.

Merlin's in black, Nike tracksuit bottoms and nothing else, and Arthur's suddenly aware that he is stark naked in the doorway. The sight of Merlin frying bacon is turning him on, stirring something inside of his stomach and he all but jumps Merlin's bones there and then as he swivels from the frying pan with a bright smile. "From my own flat?"

"You know what I mean."

"I haven't gone anywhere since Thursday. You're having a good effect on me. Bacon?"

"Sure."

"You alright?" Merlin asks, because Arthur is leaning against the doorframe with his eyes closed, but whether it's out of relief or stress, Merlin doesn't know.

"I think I'm having an out of body experience," he replies slowly.

"I know what you mean," Merlin replies as he turns back to the pan after pointedly raking his eyes up and down Arthur. "I almost had to restart my heart when I got up."

"I did when I woke up _on my own_. Come back to bed, Merlin."

"Energy first."

"Spoilsport," Arthur mutters.

"A spoilsport with a great bum," Merlin corrects happily, turning the meat onto buttered bread. "Do you want ketchup or brown sauce?"

"I'm good without."

"Good, because I don't have either in stock," Merlin says, licking his fingers. He holds out a messy bacon sandwich on a plate to Arthur.

"What's _that_?"

"Bacon sandwich," Merlin says with wide, innocent eyes, his voice raising an octave. Arthur can't tell whether Merlin's genuinely offended or not.

"_Merlin_, you can't be serious. I wouldn't touch that with a barge pole."

Merlin rolls his eyes and shoves the plate further into Arthur's chest. "Just eat it, you prat."

Arthur scrunches his nose, but takes the plate and then a hesitant bite when Merlin has turned his back and is slapping his own bacon between some bread, and by the time he has drained the pan, thrown it in the dishwasher and turned off the appliances, Arthur is shoving the last of his sandwich into his mouth.

"Um, Arthur, you know you didn't really have to eat it if you didn't want to..." he says, holding his own plate dumbly as he watches Arthur smack his lips. "We could have gone out for breakfast instead."

"And waste your food? That was actually really good," he says quickly, but his surprise drops when he sees Merlin smirk. "Oh, don't look so smug. Now, come on, come back to bed."

"I haven't eaten."

"Take a few bites on the way," Arthur growls exasperatedly as he reaches for Merlin's arm and drags him out of his own kitchen and into his own bedroom. "A-ha!" he says when they enter. There are clothes and towels strewn across the room from the evening before when Merlin was trying to find something to wear, and his bed's unmade with the pairs of jeans still on top of it. "This is more like it! Mess!" he cries happily.

Merlin grunts at the absurdity of Arthur's glee, intent on wolfing down his food before anything else happens. "Am gonna get hiccups," he grumbles.

"It'll be an interesting experience," Arthur says, and he's laughing as he stalks towards Merlin like a giddy predator. He takes the plate away and it clatters noisily on a nearby set of drawers as he backs Merlin against the wall. "Now..."

"I wasn't finished!"

"You're such a grouch in the morning, Merlin."

"But –"

"Shh."

Merlin's tracksuit bottoms are down in half a second and then Arthur's working his way down Merlin's chest.

"Jesus," Merlin gasps, his hands reaching down to tangle in Arthur's hair. "Jesus, Arthur –"

"For God's sake, Merlin, _shut up_," Arthur says with another growl against Merlin's stomach.

And he does. For a moment.

Later, they're dozing as they bathe in the warmth of the late morning sun which is streaming through Merlin's window.

"Tell me again why we slept on the sofa?" Merlin asks as he nuzzles into the crook of Arthur's neck. They're wound around each other on the bed with the duvet resting on their hips and they both have to admit it's a step-up from the couch.

"I think you said it'd be a waste of time."

"Ah. I was right, then."

"Only by a marign," Arthur laughs, and he leans back into Merlin. "Oh, this is so surreal!"

"Hm? Why?"

"I've been waiting for this my whole life – for us to meet, in the present, and now it's happened I can't quite believe it."

"Mm. It's quite assuring for me."

"How do you mean?"

Merlin sighs into the back of Arthur's neck and pulls him closer. "It's disconcerting for me, the way I'm always leaving, running, trying to find my way in a future time or remembering what I'm supposed to be doing when I land in the past, but here – with you – even just days after I've met you – it's like it's all sorted now, you know? I don't find myself having to worry as much."

"I keep forgetting it's only been three days for you. It's been years for me. So long..."

"That doesn't seem fair."

"It's okay. You have it all ahead of you," Arthur assures. "I'm glad you do. Me as a kid, preadolescent, adolescent... legal age..." He rolls over and swings a leg over Merlin's hip suggestively. "I enjoyed it very much."

"I bet you did, Mr. Law Student. It seems as if I have a lot of catching up to do."

"Mmm. I _may_ have tried to push it just a little, before I was emotionally competent to make my own decision in the eyes of the law."

"I look forward to that," Merlin says, his arm hitching around Arthur's leg.

"I won't tell you how it happens."

"No, don't," Merlin murmurs as his fingers trace the inside of his thigh. "I don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Tell me stuff about myself, or get other people to, y'know? I like the idea of having free will."

"Do you believe you do?"

"I don't know."

"You will eventually," Arthur says quietly.

Merlin laughs. "That's what I mean. I don't know if I believe in free will, but you say that I will sooner or later, so what's the point?"

They kiss, shower, disturb the neighbours, and then Arthur's in his suit from the night before, and Merlin's in jeans and a red hoodie, and they're looking at complete odds as they burst into the daylight and head towards Battersea Park, holding hands and fawning over each like teenagers amidst all of the other couples and children with their parents and dog walkers as if they've been together like this for years.

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>_Merlin_ is produced by Shine Television for the BBC and belongs to Julian Jones, Jake Michie, Julian Murphy and Johnny Capps.

_The Time Traveler's Wife_ by Audrey Niffenegger is completely her own work, and I own nothing. I am making no profit.


	5. Chapter Five

**Monday, October 25, 1993**

**(Arthur is 7, Merlin is 25)**

"I told my dad about you," says Arthur as he plays with the white belt around his waist. He's wearing his brand new karate uniform and Merlin thinks that he looks adorable, but he doesn't dare tell him so. "I don't think he believed me, though."

For Arthur, it's only the second time Merlin that has visited him, and he is absurdly happy because the strange time travelling man has kept his promises that Arthur would be able to start karate with Leon and that he would be here when Arthur comes home.

The clothes box and the stone now exist and they have been given a place in the trees at the bottom of The Field behind the house, where they will always be for years to come. Arthur isn't a stupid kid – he took some clothes from Uther over the weekend, remembering what Merlin had told him about being unable to take his clothes with him when he travels, and he also thinks that Merlin looks stupid when he wears Mrs. Cole's jumpers. Merlin's grateful, but he's just trying not to think too much about wearing Uther Pendragon's jumpers and jeans. It's too bad that Arthur isn't yet big enough for the two of them to start sharing clothes yet.

"Oh, yeah?" asks Merlin. The lanky raven-haired man is lounging on the grass with his head is buried in Arthur's karate book that he made his father buy once he conceded and allowed him to sign up for lessons with Leon. Merlin finishes his sentence below a diagram that should be too intricate for a child to understand, and looks up. "What did he say?"

"He said I shouldn't watch _The Sword in the Stone_."

Merlin laughs, a huge, booming sound, and Arthur can't help but smile, too.

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, September 7, 2009<strong>

**(Arthur is 23, Merlin is 21)**

They fall into a routine which is made up of going on unofficial dates and spending as much time together as possible, because Arthur becomes a post-grad Law student at UCL on September 28 to complete his Legal Practice Course, and there won't be much time for anything apart from a few weekends and stolen moments and holidays together for the next year.

They had their first argument over it; Merlin refuses to get in the way of Arthur's studies, even though Arthur is more than happy for Merlin to distract him, but they're determined to make it work. It will.

"I expected you to be travelling so much more than you are," Arthur says as he watches Merlin cook them dinner beside him in his large, fancy Chelsea kitchen from his seat on the kitchen counter. Merlin looks completely in his element as he chops potatoes and hums a light tune.

"I have a theory about that."

Arthur raises his eyebrows. "How's your head after all of that thinking?"

Merlin balls a tea towel up to throw at Arthur's head. It lands, on target. "Oy, watch it! Dollop head."

Arthur chuckles and swings his legs happily. "Tell me. Go on. Really."

"You know like the Karate Kid? _Focus, Daniel-san! Wax on, wax off! _It's like life lessons from Mr. Miyagi and shit like that, right? Centre yourself. Focus. Well, you're my life lesson."

"Wow, bravo," Arthur drawls. "Great analogy."

"I'm being serious! Stuff like sex and running and being happy keep me centred. I was always disappearing before you found me – ten times more than I do now. That's what I think. You're keeping me here, in the present."

"If sex is the solution, then what am I doing watching you cook?"

Merlin groans. He's still recovering from two rounds of sex this morning. "You'd think I'd have more stamina than you do."

"I'm serious, Merlin."

"So am I," Merlin retorts as he pulls a dish from the cupboard. "I was always stressed, especially when mum was ill and after she died. I was always coming and going. I barely made it to her funeral – I got stuck in 1976. It's the farthest I've ever been. Still, there were three of us at her funeral when I finally got there – not many people can say they've been to their mum's funeral three times, can they?"

"Shit," Arthur breathes. "Where did you go?"

"I dunno. I think it was somewhere in the Midlands. I only knew the date because I peeped through a farmhouse window and saw a newspaper on the counter, but then a little girl saw me from where she was sitting at the kitchen table and I had to run. It was weird. And cold. I was there for hours and I couldn't find any clothes."

Arthur leans into Merlin slightly, nudging him. "Maybe it is stress that makes you go."

"Maybe, or maybe it's just a phase. I've gone longer without even having to leave home."

"Why'dya do that?"

"Just simply to see how long I could go without travelling. It was a shit few weeks. I was 17."

"You idiot," Arthur says as balls up the tea towel that Merlin threw at him and returns the favour, but Merlin's quick, and he catches it and slings it over his shoulder. "You sat at home until you travelled, just to see how long you could go?"

Merlin shrugs, grinning. "I had nothing better to do. Besides, that turned out just to be a phase. Another self from 2012 turned up and told me otherwise."

"You never know. You might have been too relaxed."

Merlin proudly slides his homemade cottage pie into the oven and claps his hands together enthusiastically after he shuts the door. "Yeah."

"I hope you're not going to serve me something as messy as that bacon sandwich," Arthur comments as he jumps down from the kitchen counter and comes up behind Merlin.

Merlin slaps Arthur's hands which are winding around his waist, drawing him in. "You loved that bacon sandwich!"

"I just said that to get you into bed," Arthur says, although they both know it's not quite true.

Merlin flushes deeply. "You still ate it."

"I'll eat your damn cottage pie if it means you get into my bed. I'll eat anything you cook me."

"Well... it is going to take 30 minutes to bake..."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Thank you to all of you who have reviewed and stuck me and this story on your alerts and your favourites – I'm sending a hug to all of you! I've never written a story in this type of narrative before, and I haven't read many others that are the same. I worry that it's too difficult to read.

Some of you (well, two of you) have mentioned that you don't quite trust the peace. I'm telling you: nothing bad is going to happen.

... Yet.

The next chapter is coming soon – this one is short, but I couldn't add anything else onto it as it won't flow happily with what I already have planned. I know I've said that _Pendragon and Ambrosius _is my priority, but this is all that's in my head at the moment. Forgive me.

Nik


	6. Chapter Six

**Monday, April 25, 1994**

**(Merlin is 6, and 30)**

He's never felt the strange sensation of being pulled in two different directions before, nor the feeling of being stuck in limbo for a few painful, sickening seconds, so when he does, he's left crumpled on the cold, hard floor of a foreign room, trembling violently and struggling for breath. It's frightening. It's new. It's confusing. He doesn't know what to do.

Merlin is six-years-old, vulnerable and naked in some sort of closet, and he's scared.

He remembers... He remembers feeling dizzy and running from James Bennett in the playground. James Bennett likes to pick on him and call him really rude names and kick him in the stomach. He was running, and then he was falling, but... he didn't hit the concrete. He isn't hurt and he isn't bleeding. Merlin blinks away the tears. He isn't hurt.

He decides that he has to be brave, like Will. He has to be brave otherwise James Bennett will find out and call him a wimp. He has to be brave, like he has to be brave when his mum is crying and doesn't think that he knows.

He gets up, still trembling and breathing heavily. He's in a room full of brooms and smelly cleaning products on white, dusty shelves and a large trolley with a bin inside of it. It's dark, but there's a small window in the corner with a streetlamp outside that omits an orange glow and helps him to see that the cupboard isn't very clean at all, even though it has lots and lots of cleaning stuff in it. It's small. Narrow. Cramped. Nasty.

He decides to leave – maybe there are people outside, people who can explain... Maybe there's nobody. He has to try.

The door is locked. He yanks the handle this way and that and screams in frustration but it's not moving. He's stuck. Trapped. Alone.

Merlin can't be brave anymore.

He's dizzy again, and crying, because he's trapped and he's sure that nobody will know where he is – not even James Bennett, who bullies him because he is smaller than all of the other boys and has hair that sticks up everywhere and because he is Will's best friend.

The dizziness lasts for a little while, but before he can think, he's being pulled through the fabrics of reality again and he's on carpet and somebody says, "It's not always this bad, buddy, I swear to God," and then they're gathering him up in a patchwork blanket and lifting him up and cradling him in their arms, hushing him, calming him down, and Merlin doesn't care that it's a stranger and he's not supposed to talk to them because they might Bad People. He cries more because he has been found and he's free and somebody cares.

"Merlin, I haven't got long," the somebody says, and he gently tears Merlin away from his torso and sets him onto his unsteady feet and drapes the blanket over his shoulders.

The somebody is tall and has dark hair and blue eyes like him, but there's more hair on his face and he is older and strong. He's smiling slightly and on one knee to bring himself to the same height as the boy and to stroke hair from Merlin's forehead and wipe his tears away.

Merlin gulps. "How d'ya... how'dya know my name?"

"I'm magic. You're magic, too. It's okay. Do you know where you are?"

Merlin looks around. His eyes are red-rimmed and still swimming with tears, but he's trying to be brave again. He nods. "Home. My bedroom."

"Yeah. Good lad."

"How did I get here?" he cries. "Where's my mum? Where's Will?"

"She's at work, buddy. Hey, don't cry. She'll be back soon. Shall we get you some clothes now? That blanket's supposed to be neat on your bed. Come on."

"Where's my uniform?"

"It's at school in the mud, where it belongs," the man says, and he pulls a funny face. "It's horrible, isn't it? I never liked green."

Merlin manages a shaky giggle. The man is rooting through his wardrobe now and then begins helping him into some pants, trousers and his Power Rangers t-shirt. "How did I get here?" he asks again as he pushes an arm through his shirt. He sounds a little calmer now. He's warm and safe in his room, away from the brooms and the trolleys and away from James Bennett.

"I can tell you, but you have to promise that you don't tell anyone, okay? You can tell your mum, that's okay, but nobody else, yeah?"

"What about Will?"

"No, you can't tell Will. He might tell."

"He won't! Will's my best friend!"

"You can tell him when you're older if you want to, but if you tell him now he won't believe you. Do you promise, buddy?"

"... Uh-huh."

"Cross your heart?"

"I cross my heart," Merlin swears.

"Okay." The man sits on his bedroom floor and crosses his legs. "Do you remember before, when James was chasing you because he wanted to lock you into the toilets and you were running across the playground?"

Merlin nods, his eyes bright and wet and hopeful. Trusting. Innocent.

"Well, you're magic, like me. You time travelled. You're special, Merlin."

"Why? Can you do it too?"

"Yeah, I can. I'm one of the adult travellers. You know like you're in Year 1? I'm in the much bigger school."

"But... why?" asks Merlin, stepping towards him.

"It's magic. You can't explain magic."

"But what do I tell Mum? She'll be angry... I'm not meant to leave school without telling anybody."

"She won't. You can tell her whatever you like. She'll believe you."

"Cross your heart?" Merlin asks.

"I cross my heart," the man promises earnestly.

Merlin accepts this and backs towards his bed. He sits and crosses his legs like the man on his floor. "What's your name?"

"My name's Merlin, too. That's funny, isn't it?"

"Are all of the other time travellers called Merlin?"

"No."

His face falls a little. He'd been imagining a whole Merlin group of time travellers. Friends. Brothers. Partners in crime. "Oh."

There's the sound of the key in the lock and Merlin jumps. Mum's home. The man seems calm, though, and he gets to his feet and holds out his hand. "Come on."

"You're coming? She won't be mad?"

"No, she'll be okay. I promised, didn't I?"

Merlin allows himself to be led out of his bedroom. They cross the upstairs hall and come down thundering down the stairs, and then Merlin's crying out and running into his mother's arms and he's sobbing again, but this time in heartbreaking relief, and he locks his arms around her neck, hanging on desperately.

He's home.

He doesn't see his mother and Other Merlin smile fondly at one other. He doesn't see that Other Merlin is crying, too, not until Other Merlin says, "Merlin, hey, watch this, bud," and Merlin pulls his face away from his mother's neck and snaps around just in time to see Other Merlin vanish and leave a heap of clothes at the bottom of the stairs.

"Wow."

His mum's laughing, swinging him around in her arms. She's still laughing as she carries him into the kitchen and makes him hot chocolate and says that he can have the rest of the day off school.

He tells her everything.

That was the first time.

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>_Merlin_ is produced by Shine Television for the BBC and belongs to Julian Jones, Jake Michie, Julian Murphy and Johnny Capps.

_The Time Traveler's Wife_ by Audrey Niffenegger is completely her own work, and I own nothing.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Monday, April 25, 1994  
>(Merlin is 6, and 30)<strong>

He's never felt the strange sensation of being pulled in two different directions before, nor the feeling of being stuck in limbo for a few painful, sickening seconds, so when he does, he's left crumpled on the cold, hard floor of a foreign room, trembling violently and struggling for breath. It's frightening. It's new. It's confusing. He doesn't know what to do.

Merlin is six-years-old, vulnerable and naked in some sort of closet, and he's scared.

He remembers... He remembers feeling dizzy and running from James Bennett in the playground. James Bennett likes to pick on him and call him really rude names and kick him in the stomach. He was running, and then he was falling, but... he didn't hit the concrete. He isn't hurt and he isn't bleeding. Merlin blinks away the tears. He isn't hurt.

He decides that he has to be brave, like Will. He has to be brave otherwise James Bennett will find out and call him a wimp. He has to be brave, like he has to be brave when his mum is crying and doesn't think that he knows.

He gets up, still trembling and breathing heavily. He's in a room full of brooms and smelly cleaning products on white, dusty shelves and a large trolley with a bin inside of it. It's dark, but there's a small window in the corner with a streetlamp outside that omits an orange glow and helps him to see that the cupboard isn't very clean at all, even though it has lots and lots of cleaning stuff in it. It's small. Narrow. Cramped. Nasty.

He decides to leave – maybe there are people outside, people who can explain... Maybe there's nobody. He has to try.

The door is locked. He yanks the handle this way and that and screams in frustration but it's not moving. He's stuck. Trapped. Alone.

Merlin can't be brave anymore.

He's dizzy again, and crying, because he's trapped and he's sure that nobody will know where he is – not even James Bennett, who bullies him because he is smaller than all of the other boys and has hair that sticks up everywhere and because he is Will's best friend.

The dizziness lasts for a little while, but before he can think, he's being pulled through the fabrics of reality again and he's on carpet and somebody says, "It's not always this bad, buddy, I swear to God," and then they're gathering him up in a patchwork blanket and lifting him up and cradling him in their arms, hushing him, calming him down, and Merlin doesn't care that it's a stranger and he's not supposed to talk to them because they might Bad People. He cries more because he has been found and he's free and somebody cares.

"Merlin, I haven't got long," the somebody says, and he gently tears Merlin away from his torso and sets him onto his unsteady feet and drapes the blanket over his shoulders.

The somebody is tall and has dark hair and blue eyes like him, but there's more hair on his face and he is older and strong. He's smiling slightly and on one knee to bring himself to the same height as the boy and to stroke hair from Merlin's forehead and wipe his tears away.

Merlin gulps. "How d'ya... how'dya know my name?"

"I'm magic. You're magic, too. It's okay. Do you know where you are?"

Merlin looks around. His eyes are red-rimmed and still swimming with tears, but he's trying to be brave again. He nods. "Home. My bedroom."

"Yeah. Good lad."

"How did I get here?" he cries. "Where's my mum? Where's Will?"

"She's at work, buddy. Hey, don't cry. She'll be back soon. Shall we get you some clothes now? That blanket's supposed to be neat on your bed. Come on."

"Where's my uniform?"

"It's at school in the mud, where it belongs," the man says, and he pulls a funny face. "It's horrible, isn't it? I never liked green."

Merlin manages a shaky giggle. The man is rooting through his wardrobe now and then begins helping him into some pants, trousers and his Power Rangers t-shirt. "How did I get here?" he asks again as he pushes an arm through his shirt. He sounds a little calmer now. He's warm and safe in his room, away from the brooms and the trolleys and away from James Bennett.

"I can tell you, but you have to promise that you don't tell anyone, okay? You can tell your mum, that's okay, but nobody else, yeah?"

"What about Will?"

"No, you can't tell Will. He might tell."

"He won't! Will's my best friend!"

"You can tell him when you're older if you want to, but if you tell him now he won't believe you. Do you promise, buddy?"

"... Uh-huh."

"Cross your heart?"

"I cross my heart," Merlin swears.

"Okay." The man sits on his bedroom floor and crosses his legs. "Do you remember before, when James was chasing you because he wanted to lock you into the toilets and you were running across the playground?"

Merlin nods, his eyes bright and wet and hopeful. Trusting. Innocent.

"Well, you're magic, like me. You time travelled. You're special, Merlin."

"Why? Can you do it too?"

"Yeah, I can. I'm one of the adult travellers. You know like you're in Year 1? I'm in the much bigger school."

"But... why?" asks Merlin, stepping towards him.

"It's magic. You can't explain magic."

It's not really magic.

Well, maybe it is. It's never been possible to have it be explained by scientists, but then, Merlin has never given them a chance. It can't possibly be explained by science. It is not a science. It is an art.

How can you say that disappearing from June 1961 to then appear in September 2009 in the same second is not an art? That it's not... magic?

"But what do I tell Mum? She'll be angry... I'm not meant to leave school without telling anybody."

"She won't. You can tell her whatever you like. She'll believe you."

"Cross your heart?" Merlin asks.

"I cross my heart," the man promises earnestly.

Merlin accepts this and backs towards his bed. He sits and crosses his legs like the man on his floor. "What's your name?"

"My name's Merlin, too. That's funny, isn't it?"

"Are all of the other time travellers called Merlin?"

"No."

His face falls a little. He'd been imagining a whole Merlin group of time travellers. Friends. Brothers. Partners in crime. "Oh."

There's the sound of the key in the lock and Merlin jumps. Mum's home. The man seems calm, though, and he gets to his feet and holds out his hand. "Come on."

"You're coming? She won't be mad?"

"No, she'll be okay. I promised, didn't I?"

Merlin allows himself to be led out of his bedroom. They cross the upstairs hall and come down thundering down the stairs, and then Merlin's crying out and running into his mother's arms and he's sobbing again, but this time in heartbreaking relief, and he locks his arms around her neck, hanging on desperately.

He's home.

He doesn't see his mother and Other Merlin smile fondly at one other. He doesn't see that Other Merlin is crying, too, not until Other Merlin says, "Merlin, hey, watch this, bud," and Merlin pulls his face away from his mother's neck and snaps around just in time to see Other Merlin vanish and leave a heap of clothes at the bottom of the stairs.

"Wow."

His mum's laughing, swinging him around in her arms. She's still laughing as she carries him into the kitchen and makes him hot chocolate and says that he can have the rest of the day off school.

He tells her everything.

That was the first time.

:::

**Monday, September 28, 2009  
>(Arthur is 23, Merlin is 21)<strong>

Their parting kiss is quick but still leaves Merlin breathless and needy. "Have a good day," he murmurs against Arthur's neck, trying to exercise his self control.

"I don't have to go... It's only going to be an introduction to the term..."

Merlin laughs and weakly tries to push Arthur away from him, but his heart isn't in it. "You do," he insists, and he somehow finds the willpower to heave Arthur over to the front door, even though Arthur has a good two stone on him, because he's leaning all of his weight into Merlin and moaning immaturely, dragging his feet. "Go."

There is more kissing against the wall, and when Arthur is finally over the threshold his hair is dishevelled and he's looking at Merlin with a silly grin. "Right. I'm going. I'll be back tonight."

Merlin rolls his eyes. "Good. You do that."

He doesn't leave.

"Arthur, seriously, so help me God I will drag you to that university by myself if you don't move your sorry arse. You're going to miss your bloody train!"

"Now there's an idea..."

"Arthur..." Merlin warns.

"Alright, alright!" Arthur lurches forward again. The kiss is sloppy. "Love you. Don't forget me while I'm being a tip-top law student, slaving away and selling my soul, all for the good of humanity and in the name of so and so and blah, blah, blah..."

"How can I?" Merlin asks with raised eyebrows as he leans against the door. "You're all I have. Jesus, you're not a resident there, you'll be back tonight. Now go."

"I'm going!" he says, and he hurries along the hall and down the stairs, his bag bumping heavily on his back. Merlin feels a crippling moment of pride, and then despair – exactly like a parent sending their child off for the first day of school.

"And for God's sake, flatten your hair!" Merlin calls after him, and then he shuts the door.

_Later:_

When Merlin first tells Gwen about Arthur, he has to hold the phone away from his ear for a few minutes until she stops squealing and babbling in delight. He circles Arthur's living room with a faint, knowing smile, waiting for her to finish, and then he hears her screaming _Merlin, Merlin!_ and he figures that it is safe to talk.

"You done?" he asks.

"I can't believe it!"

"Yeah, me neither. Does Elena still have the use of her ears?"

"She's not in today so I have the office to myself! Omigod, omigod, but... _Merlin_! What's he like?"

"I tell you, Gwen, if he wasn't gay—well, bi, and you didn't have Lance..."

"Oh, _that_ good, huh?"

Merlin smiles as he cradles the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he tidies up a little. "Yes. I was thinking that we could, like, go out to dinner or something on the weekend—he starts his last year of university today and I figured I could let you vet him before things become too hectic. And, well, I'd really like you to meet him, Gwen."

"It's pretty serious, huh?"

"You have no idea."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure about Arthur."

Gwen laughs. "I meant about going out to dinner, but, okay. Why don't you just come over here instead? We can invite Will, too. You and I can cook and Arthur, Will and Lance can just... you know... go off and be men. And stuff."

Merlin makes a face, but about giving Will an invitation or cooking dinner he can't decide. He chooses the latter and says, "What am I, then?"

"You're going to be too busy in the kitchen to worry about that."

:::

**Saturday, October 3, 2009**  
><strong>(Arthur is 23, Merlin is 21)<strong>

Arthur and Merlin arrive at the apartment Gwen shares with Lancelot in Richmond after a nervous bus and train ride, although it's mostly on Arthur's part; Merlin is calm, cool and collected, and he smiles at Arthur and gently chides him every time the other man checks his watch and pulls on the sleeves of his suit as he did the day he pulled Merlin into Starbucks.

His first week as a post-grad student has been slow – at least, that's what he says, but Merlin can't comprehend how you can consider two backpack's worth of work and studying 'slow'.

"Arthur, stop it, you're making _me_ nervous."

"I can't help it," he grunts, flattening his tie. They're at the door.

Merlin sighs, pulling Arthur around. "Come here." He brushes Arthur's shoulders down reassuringly and straightens his collar, even though it's perfectly fine the way it is. He tries to avoid Arthur's close stare, lest they get carried away.

"You have really blue eyes," Arthur says in a low voice, leaning in.

"Down, boy," Merlin replies, swatting him away with a laugh and then he presses the buzzer.

"Come up!" a female voice cries through the speaker, and the door opens with a horrible sound. Merlin drags Arthur up the stairs.

"What if they don't—"

"They will," Merlin says with fond exasperation as Gwen opens the door. She's in fitting jeans and a light, flowing blouse.

Arthur pulls himself to his full height and smiles his best smile, and Merlin looks uneasy as she regards them closely for a moment. Then she says, "Merlin, why on Earth are you in a suit? You're never in a suit."

"Arthur said I had to," he grumbles like an eight-year-old.

Gwen appraises Arthur, smiles widely at him and leans into the door. "Well – okay," she says, "but I'll have you know that I'm having none of your posh namby-pamby politics in my little flat, even if you do look dashing, alright?"

"I told you we should have come in our slacks," Merlin mutters under his breath, reaching for Arthur's fingers.

Arthur rolls his eyes and he gives Merlin's hand a little squeeze before holding it out for Gwen. "Thank you for inviting us, Guinevere," he says.

"Oh, call me Gwen," she says, and Arthur barely manages to keep his feet on the ground as she throws her arms around him and kisses his cheek dramatically. He pats her back clumsily, shocked. "I'm so happy you could come!"

"Gwen, he's _mine_," Merlin says, and he can see that she doesn't know if he's joking or not.

"Give over, Merlin. Come in, Arthur."

"Can I come in too?"

"Not if you are going to be horrible," Gwen says sternly, but she begins ushering the both of them into the warm and welcoming flat anyway.

Merlin throws a sheepish, guilty smile at Arthur, who looks completely bewildered by the reception he's been given.

"Arthur, this is Lancelot. Don't worry about him – he's just here because I like to look at him, but hands off."

Arthur and Lance shake hands. "I wouldn't dream of it," Arthur says, and Merlin mutters something that sounds suspiciously like_ you better not_ and then the tension's broken and they're laughing, completely at ease. That is, until Will clears his throat.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Arthur," Lance says, just as formal and polite as Arthur, and Merlin wonders what there was to worry about. These two are a match made in heaven. "Call me Lance. Would you like a beer?"

"Sure."

Lance looks pointedly at Merlin. "Go on then, Merlin. Beers."

"Don't think you're getting away with that, Call-Me-Lance," Merlin says, but he grins and bustles off to the fridge just as Gwen says, "This is Will," and Arthur says, "Pleasure."

Merlin comes back and hands out beers and glasses of wine. He pulls off his dinner jacket, rolls up his sleeves, and then he and Gwen start on the cooking, listening to Arthur and Lance, and Will, discuss Arthur's studies and then, unsurprisingly (although however the conversation led onto it, Merlin will never know) football and their favourite teams. From what Merlin can make out, Lance and Arthur are instant friends, and not just because they have Merlin in common or because they both support Chelsea. Will, for the most part, is quiet, so Gwen eyes Merlin and with a glint in her eye she says, "Will, _darling_, come and help me crack this open," and he mumbles something that makes Lance and Arthur laugh.

When Will comes into the kitchen he pulls a face at Merlin behind Gwen's back. He keeps on doing so until Gwen catches him and whips him with a tea towel.

"Hey, kids," Gwen says some time later to Lance and Arthur, her arms laden with glasses and cutlery as Merlin follows behind her, carrying a large dish of some kind of concoction. Will has set the table. "Stop snogging and get the hell over here – grub's up."

They pour wine into new glasses and inhale deeply and then they talk about all the things people talk about when they meet each other for the first time: school, where they grew up, family, friends, jobs, school and their capital home city. Arthur flows through the conversation easily, answering on cue and smiling and laughing as he and Merlin nudge each other under the table.

Gwen tells of her degree in English and her job as an aspiring assistant at The Guardian newspaper. Lancelot tells of his position in the armed forces and how he is on a six-week leave from Afghanistan. Arthur is gobsmacked, and very nearly applauds them both on the spot for their bravery and their love. He is surprised at Gwen, for her gentle, loving appearance that hides her fiesty personality and how she clearly adores Merlin and Lancelot, who she calls her "boys", and he is in awe of Lancelot, who looks every bit intimidating as Uther Pendragon, but whose character could not be more different. He loves them both. He loves them for being Merlin's best friends, for taking care of him and loving him so fiercely.

Will is something else. There is something familiar about Will, but Arthur can't place him. Merlin and Will share small anecdotes about growing up together and it leads on to how they met Gwen and Lance, which leads back onto Lancelot's service in the military.

"So," Lance says when they're through explaining his first tour of duty. He waves his fork in the general direction of Merlin and Arthur. "How did the two of you meet?"

"It's okay," Merlin says around a mouthful when Arthur freezes beside him, "they know."

"You didn't tell him we knew?" Gwen demands as she looks completely aghast.

"Er – slipped my mind?"

"I've known Merlin since I was seven," Arthur offer in a bid to save Merlin. Will shifts uncomfortably before them.

"I have yet to introduce myself to him," Merlin says, and they're laughing again, even Will, because they're borderline drunk and thoroughly enjoying their night and Merlin being a time traveller suddenly becomes the funniest thing ever. And it is really, Merlin thinks, once you get past the heartbreak and everything that comes as a package deal.

"It must be so weird for you, though," Lance comments dreamily as he calms.

Arthur has to do a double take to check the words came from his mouth and not Gwen's, who gushes, "But so romantic!" and then cries, "A toast! To romance! To our little boy, Merlin, for growing up! To Arthur, for putting up with him for all of these years! To me! And Lance for being Lance! And Will... Will, get more wine!"

"What about desert?" Will asks.

"Oh, shit," Merlin says. "I forgot. I'll get it."

Will says, "I'll help you," as Merlin stands, grinning down at Arthur who grins back because they are feeling lighter than air.

"If it's burnt," Gwen says, "just lie to me, okay?"

Merlin and Will salute the woman in unison and amble into the kitchen. Merlin stumbles as he catches the door handle, but Will grabs him. They stand pressed together for a moment and Merlin feels Will's hands on his waist, but he lets him go and says, "You're drunk, Em."

"So are you," Merlin tells him as he opens the oven. He can't remember what they made for desert. Either way, it's suddenly very smoky in the kitchen. Merlin bats his hands and unknowingly backs into Will, who steadies him once again.

"He's the same guy," Will says quietly into his ear. His breath tickles.

"What?"

"The same guy. My mate Gwaine—"

"Can I help?" Gwen walks into the kitchen and Will leaps away from Merlin. "We'll go out onto the balcony," he says. "Desert looks unsalvageable, and I need a cigarette."

Gwen sighs. "Brilliant."

She and Merlin stay in the kitchen as Will hollers at the boys and opens the glass doors that lead onto the terrace. They sit; Lance on the wall, hanging dangerously over the edge, and Arthur and Will in opposite chairs. Will lights a cigarette and leans back. They can hear Gwen and Merlin giggling in the kitchen over whipped cream.

There is something about Will bugging Arthur. Maybe it's his possessiveness toward Merlin, or his stupid hair that he flicks out of his eyes as he takes a drag. He swears that he's seen this guy before. "You're very familiar," he says.

"Yeah," Will replies, smoking coming from his nostrils. "We've seen each other around."

"You go to UCL?" Arthur asks. Lance scoffs.

Will does, too. "Nah. You know Gwaine, right?"

Arthur nods. He's got it. "His New Year party."

"Yep. You were with some hot girl. Tall. Dark hair."

"My sister," Arthur informs, and something changes in Will's expression, like he now wants to pulverise Arthur for having a gorgeous sister instead of killing him for being with Merlin.

No. Arthur definitely does not like this guy. He thinks that Lance possibly catches onto this, but then—

"Desert!" Merlin drunkenly calls. He's at the glass doors, poking onto the balcony and looking at Arthur and only Arthur with a wide smile and—

"Great!" Will replies. He throws his cigarette over the wall and stands, blowing smoke into cold air. "Better not be that apple pie." He slings an arm around Merlin's shoulders and takes him back into the warmth of the flat.

Lance jumps down from the wall with complete ease and catches Arthur's eyes with a guarded smile, then the moment is broken and he goes inside to his girlfriend, leaving Arthur wondering.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Tuesday, March 22, 2004**  
><strong>(Arthur is 18, Merlin is 28)<strong>

"How's Sixth Form going? You must be coming towards the end of your last year, right?"

"Yeah. We finished university applications before Christmas," Arthur says, and by 'we', he means the two of them, and Merlin knows it.

"I'm sorry. I'll get around to it."

"S'ok," Arthur murmurs. "Give it a few years."

"Ugh."

They're lying side by side on the blanket Arthur has brought from the house under the rare March sun with their hands clasped over their stomachs. It's very peaceful, and Merlin is able to pretend that just for a second he will never have to leave.

"Merlin?" Arthur says, and there's an uncertainty about the way he does; like he is both unsure to ask what he wants to and frightened of the reaction he will receive.

"Mm? What's up?"

Arthur's voice is closer. He's turned onto his side, and he's breathing on Merlin, and Merlin doesn't dare to open his eyes because Arthur is 18-years-old and thoroughly enjoys testing Merlin's self-control. He's handsome, and he knows it. Sometimes Merlin has to think about Uther Pendragon in the shower to keep himself in check.

"What would you do if I took a gap year? If I deferred a placement at uni for a year?"

Uh-oh. Merlin's been through this. He turns up a lot in The Field during Arthur's gap year. It's a lonely time, and his other selves have told him that there are still many lonely dates to come.

Of course, it means that Arthur does take the gap year in spite of all that will be said. Merlin knows that Arthur will travel across Asia, Southern Europe and a lot of America, drinking and smoking more than just tobacco and having hot, wild sex with beautiful foreign chicks and guys, many of whom he will forget by the time he is 20.

"Merlin?"

He's been in thought too long. "I think you should do it," he replies, because there's nothing responsible to say. Arthur has to go – despite the too-honest cliché that the gap year will help him find himself and help him to come to terms with his sexuality. It's one of the best and worst times for Arthur, and it's something that Merlin can never a part of, not in the past, present, or future. Arthur has to do this alone.

"You don't sound so sure, Merlin."

Merlin opens his eyes slightly, his vision blurred in the rays of the sun. Arthur is close. Too close. "It's not about me. Do you want to go?"

Arthur huffs raggedly, and he reaches up to tug at his hair. It sticks up and looks golden in the sunlight. "Yes, and no."

"Why no?"

Merlin catches something along the lines of _leave you_ and _alone_ and _not fair_ and he shakes his head.

"No. You should do it, Arthur."

"You already know if I do or don't, do you?"

"Of course I do."

"Tell me," Arthur demands petulantly.

"No chance."

Arthur growls and flips onto his stomach. He tilts his head to Merlin. "You're rather infuriating."

"Hey, you asked me how I feel about—"

"I didn't," Arthur cuts across him. "I asked what you would do."

Merlin rolls onto his side and pokes Arthur lightly in the ribs. "I'll wait. I'll wait for you, of course. You're always waiting for me. Just think of it as my karma – a taste of my own medicine."

"That's not fair."

"No, Arthur, what's not fair is you deferring for a year and not taking the break you need. Arthur, just go on the fucking gap year. You have a great time and you—"

"Aha! So I do go!"

Oops. Oh well. What harm can it do? "Yes," Merlin says with an exasperated sigh and he rolls his eyes. "You do, and you have an amazing time."

_There_, Merlin thinks. He's not telling the whole truth, but Arthur doesn't need to know that. The point is that he's going and that Merlin will have to fill up spaces of a lonely year without him. It can't be avoided, either way. It's necessary. It will be painful for the both of them.

"Hm. Weird. Now we'll never know if I've made the decision myself, or if I'm going because you said I would."

"Don't go, then. Stay. Accept any placement that comes your way and start uni at 18. Don't get on the plane. Try it," Merlin dares.

Arthur laughs. "Oh, no you don't – I'm going now."

"Thank God for that," Merlin says, and his laugh comes out wrong.

"Merlin... seriously – what about you? Whatever will you do without me?"

"Drop the theatrics." Merlin refuses to let on that he has sat alone in The Field a few times already while Arthur is shagging strangers in distant lands. "I'll be okay. I'll be fine."

"You swear?"

"Swear," Merlin promises, although it's half-hearted and almost in defeat.

This appeases Arthur much more quickly than Merlin would have liked it to. "So – where do I go?" he asks straight away, and he's grinning and his eyes are playful and he is very, very, close to Merlin's face, and Merlin has to pull up an image of Uther Pendragon to distract himself.

"You go everywhere."

"Boring."

Merlin feels a little nauseous, and his head has started spinning. "You have to choose that one for yourself. Make sure you go to Florida, though."

"Why? What's in Florida?"

"Sea World," Merlin says honestly, beaming brightly, and then he's gone.

:::

**Sunday, November 27, 2016**  
><strong>(Arthur is 30, Merlin is 28)<strong>

Merlin crawls into bed. Home, at last. Home sweet home. Home, home. _I'm here. I love you. I'm home._

Arthur stirs as Merlin wriggles close to him for warmth. "Where were you?" he asks, his voice thick with sleep.

"In The Field. 2004. You asked me what I would do if you took a gap year," Merlin says as he allows himself to be kissed and welcomed home by Arthur.

"March," Arthur says after he remembers. He kisses Merlin again. "Right?"

"Yeah."

Arthur lazily rubs Merlin's arms which are stone cold, and they're just falling asleep when Merlin asks, "Did you go to Sea World?" in an all-too alert and interested voice, and he does sound so genuinely intrigued that they're both on their backs laughing, and after five minutes they can't remember why.

:::

**Tuesday, November 24, 2009**  
><strong>(Arthur is 23, Merlin is 21)<strong>

Arthur and Merlin have just celebrated their present selves being together for three months when Arthur comes to a decision. He finishes UCL for the day and rings Merlin.

"Hey," Merlin answers. He sounds chipper. "What's up?"

"I'm gonna be late," says Arthur. "I'm gonna go see my dad – he's in the London offices today."

"Right..."

"Don't say it like that. Hang on. I'm getting on the bus."

It's silent for a moment, and then, "Y'know, I find it amazing that you're a top student at one of the best universities in London and you're managing to do a post-grad year and yet you can't talk on the phone and get on a bus and touch-in with your Oyster at the same time," Merlin says with wonder in his tone.

"Shut up," Arthur says as he takes a seat at the back of the double-decker. "I get confused."

"Alright, Mr. Law Student. Tell me – why are you going to see Daddy Pendragon?"

"I'm gonna tell him about us," Arthur says with hard determination as if he quite doesn't believe himself, and he doesn't.

Merlin's spluttering on the other end of the phone. "Arthur – what – you – _are you fucking insane?_"

"Yes."

Merlin huffs, and there's the sound of something clattering and he swears angrily at some inanimate object that is probably in his way. "Well – I'm glad we cleared that up," he says when he's done cursing, "I really am. Shit, Arthur, what do you think you're doing?"

"The right thing. It's been a month since you let me into the unsuspecting lives of Gwen and Lance, and God help me, Will. I should start doing the same. I want to."

He doesn't mean it. The fact is that Lance and Gwen _love_ Arthur, and they're happy to have him. The four of them have been out for two dinners and a movie since the drunken escapade at the apartment, despite all of the pressure Arthur is under from university. Lance flies out to Afghanistan next week after a six-week leave from the force, and while they are enjoying each other's company, they also want to create happy memories for Guinevere while Lance is away. It is the best they can do.

Will is another matter.

"I know, but... _Arthur_," Merlin says, breathing his name in an attempt for calm. "Are you going there to... Oh. I can't deal with this. He's going to murder you, then he's going to find me, and then he's gonna flay me alive and then shred me up and then he'll chew me up and spit me out just to make sure, and then..."

Arthur's grinning into his mobile phone as he leans against the window of the bus and listens to Merlin.

"... and then he'll give my scraps to Morgana," Merlin's still saying, "and then she'll – well – God knows what... Arthur? You still there?"

"You're such a _girl_, Merlin. It's going to be fine."

"I'd rather be a girl than Morgana's desert! Arthur, you're going to your father – you're coming out of the closet. You do understand that right?" he asks slowly as if Arthur is silly.

"Yes, Merlin."

"You know that you can't go back in once you come out?"

"Yes, Merlin."

"Just checking. I think you're fucking mad."

"I love you," Arthur says, and it sounds so simple and easy that he practically hears Merlin deflating on the other end of the phone. "I want to do this."

"I'll be here when you come home. I'll come and get you from the station, even. No, wait, you should wait there and I'll come with you to see him and –"

"No, just wait at home, okay?"

"If you're sure..."

"I am. Look, I'm nearly there already. Oh, fuck. Here we go." Arthur exhales. "I'll come straight back, alright? I need to do this."

"I wish you would have at least said you were seriously considering this. We could have –"

"What, talk? Honestly, Merlin. He emailed me today and said he's in London and I was in the middle of a lecture and I decided there and then."

"God."

Arthur stands up and presses the bell and makes his way to the back doors with his bag bumping uncomfortably on his side in the tight aisle. "I know. Look, I've gotta go, okay?"

"Alright," Merlin says quietly. He's unsure. Uncertain. Scared.

"Don't worry, okay?"

"I can't help it," Merlin mutters into the phone as Arthur gets off the bus.

"I'll see you at home."

"Arthur?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you too, you know? You bloody prat."

"Always. Talk to you in a bit," he says, and then he ends the call because he can't bear Merlin's stress in case he begins doubting himself. He's going to do this, and he's going to do it now.

He defers for ten minutes and dawdles into the Starbucks he dragged Merlin to when Arthur found him, and then he thinks, _no, I'm really going to do this_, and then he's swinging through the revolving doors and striding confidently through the reception of _Pendragon & Son_.

Catrina calls him from her desk – she's in the middle of a personal call, as is the usual – but Arthur hollers back at her with something about _it's really urgent_ and then she pales and says she'll let Uther know that he's on his way up.

"Arthur," Uther greets. He's standing at his desk, clearing stray documents and shutting down his computer. "I didn't expect to see you. Catrina said you were quite insistent. Is anything the matter?"

"Yes – no – no, there's not," Arthur says, and there's a second where he can't believe what he's about to do. "I need to talk to you about something. With you. About me."

Uther's stoic, as usual. "Go on."

"I've met someone."

Uther bursts into loud laughter, and Arthur tries to remember the last time he saw him laugh with such abandon. "Bloody hell, Arthur, I thought you were about to tell me that you've quit university. Jesus, boy. What's the problem?"

"Well – erm – well, what it is –"

"Out with it, come on. What's this one's name?"

"Merlin."

"Strange that. Didn't you have an imaginary friend called Merlin?"

Arthur fights a smile, because Merlin _was_ the imaginary friend, and his father will never know.

"Well, what's he like?"

"Amazing," Arthur blathers suddenly with huge hand gestures. "I've never been with someone who..." he trails off.

Uther's smiling. Arthur freezes.

"Wait."

"What?" Uther asks with raised eyebrows. He holds Arthur's gaze for a second, and then continues clearing his desk.

"You don't mind? I mean – _what? _You don't care? That he's, well, you don't care that he's a he?"

"Arthur," Uther sighs, "after all of those past train wrecks you've introduced me to, I find that I no longer particularly care whether your new fancy is a he or whether they possess six fingers on one hand."

"Um. Wow."

"I only wish that you felt like you could have come to me about this sooner, son," his father says, and the emotional statement hangs in the air for only a second before he's righting himself. "What is he like?"

Arthur doesn't answer for 30 seconds. His blue eyes are wide and disbelieving and his mouth his hanging open and he shakes his head and holds up his hands. "Sorry – I don't believe this."

"What did you think I was going to do to you? Stab you with this ruler?" Uther says, holding up the piece of stationary he's about to throw into a draw.

"Actually, yes. Merlin is convinced that you'll murder me on the spot and then you'll go after him and skin him alive," Arthur says all too casually.

"What does he take me for?" Uther asks, and Arthur can't work out his tone. "What exactly have you told him?"

"Nothing – it's just he's scared of senior lawyers. Aredian was his mother's representative."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

"Well – we'll have to convince him otherwise. You'll be bringing him over for Christmas, of course."

"I'm sorry?"

"Arthur, really. Close your mouth and screw your head back on. You're bringing him for Christmas, and that's that. You can't let Morgana and I not meet him. I may not care about whether this new fancy is a he or a she or, Lord have mercy, both, but I do have to make sure you're not lunging into yet another abysmal relationship in which you will be unhappy for all eternity."

"Right. Uh. Yeah. Fine."

"Good. Now, I'm really late for my meeting, and I have to dine with Geoffrey afterwards. I'll email you during the week."

"Right."

"Right."

"Uh – I'll look forward to it," Arthur says. He gives his father the first genuine smile in years and then he's in the lift and drifting back past Catrina and pushing his way through the door and thumbing the speed dial button on his phone.

"Arthur? Arthur? What's happened?" Merlin answers on the first ring and then Arthur can't hold it in any longer. He's hyperventilating through childish, hysterical giggles because he can't believe it, and he doesn't stop, not even when Merlin's screaming frantically and desperately in his ear to tell him _what the fuck is going on_ and Arthur's doubled-over and crying in the middle of Central London. He's clutching the phone to his stomach, and nobody does anything but give him odd looks because they're British and they just don't care.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Thursday, December 24, 2009**

**Arthur is 24, Merlin is 21**

It's their first Christmas together, and the only time they'll get to spend together alone before they leave for the Pendragon mansion, so Christmas Eve turns into a pretend Christmas Day for them. They spend it in Arthur's flat, away from watchful eyes and the scrutiny of Uther Pendragon, who has been in constant contact since Arthur's impromptu visit to the London offices a month ago.

They lounge naked under blankets on the double mattress they have dragged from Arthur's room into the living area. They drink obscene amounts of Buck's Fizz as tradition demands and they eat absurd amounts of chocolates for breakfast and watch rubbish movies on the television and have dirty sex and eat more chocolate.

Merlin gives Arthur a key to his flat, and they laugh and turn red when Arthur pulls out a similar box for Merlin that holds a key to his. It's official, now, even though Merlin already practically lives with Arthur and he keeps his flat and continues to pay stupid amounts of money for it to ensure that every single self of his has a safe haven, whatever year they are in.

Arthur can't help but kiss Merlin stupid when he's presented with the key. It's much more than just a key. It's trust in its purest form, a promise for _now _and the future.

Uther calls at midday and Arthur dutifully promises to arrive on time tomorrow. Merlin gets on his knees and distracts him to the point where Arthur very nearly rudely hangs up on his father, and he's in such a good mood afterwards that he even rings Morgana before she has the chance. He reminds her that he's going to annoy her all through Christmas and that he probably has the worst gift ever for her, and she responds in kind. Merlin wraps himself behind his lover and pulls faces and mutters obscenities about Morgana in Arthur's ear, and Arthur doesn't pretend that it's something on the television making him laugh when his sister asks.

Later, they find last year's speech from the Queen on YouTube and after a quick burst of the national anthem, they watch the monarch with feigned interest, because it's what they'd do on a proper Christmas Day anyway. The time is actually spent with Arthur talking over Her Majesty and commenting on the monarchy and Merlin telling him to _shut the hell up._

Arthur rolls his eyes. "She doesn't do anything, anyway."

"I dunno. She's given the grandkids some pretty good genes. I'd go for that Harry any day."

Arthur scoffs disgustedly. "You're just wrong, all over."

Merlin grins.

"I mean it, though," Arthur continues with a serious face that isn't fooling anybody. "The old lady gets on my nerves. She does nothing."

"She does!" Merlin protests. "She's..."

Arthur smirks. "What?"

"... A very good queen!"

"That's why she rides the streets of London in her carriage made of gold, when her apparently loyal subjects are suffering a recession."

"She doesn't just ride the streets of London, Arthur. Besides, it's not as if you're suffering, is it?"

Arthur smiles and realises that, no, he isn't, and Merlin smiles back at him with a fond roll of his eyes.

They don't leave the flat all day. It's the best pretend Christmas _ever_.

* * *

><p><strong>Friday, December 25, 2009<strong>

**Arthur is 24, Merlin is 21**

It's an ungodly hour when they lock Arthur's flat and pack his silver car with their overnight bags and head towards the M3 in the dark.

Arthur's driving, because for obvious reasons Merlin can't have a license, but he's still very much a backseat driver as they head towards the Pendragon mansion in Kent, and Arthur can't shut him up.

"I'm a nervous passenger!" Merlin protests after Arthur tells him for the seventh time to _shut the hell up_.

Despite this, Arthur is surprisingly chipper, even if it is just after 6am and he is taking Merlin to meet his father and his sister. "You're just grouchy because you haven't had your breakfast."

"I'm just grouchy because the sun hasn't even risen yet and it's Boxing Day and I didn't get any this morning because you were shaking me awake and prancing about the room and preparing me for my death," Merlin grumbles.

"And because you haven't had your breakfast."

"And because I haven't had my breakfast," Merlin agrees.

Arthur reaches over and cups the back of Merlin's neck. "Don't worry, we—"

"KEEP BOTH HANDS ON THE GODDAMN WHEEL, YOU CLOTPOLE!"

Later, Arthur pulls into a service station and buys Merlin lots of coffee and bagels and after that, Merlin is content to sit in the passenger seat and worry silently. It's nearly half past seven when they're finally away from the motorway and twisting seamlessly through the country roads and towards the finer end of the country estates.

"What does he know about me?"

"That you're after me for my money, because I'm rich and gorgeous."

"Apart from that," Merlin says with a roll of his eyes as he wrings his hands in his lap.

"Don't worry, Merlin. You'll be fine. He doesn't seem to care unless you turn out to be the downfall of the career he's had planned for me since I was born."

"I'd never!"

"Exactly, so there's nothing—"

"—Keep your eyes on the fucking—"

"—to worry about."

"—road!"

_Later:_

Morgana pounces as soon as Merlin excuses himself for the bathroom. "Does he have a brother?" she asks the moment Merlin is out of the room.

Arthur's eyes had trailed after Merlin, but Merlin had simply smiled gently and said he would be back in a moment.

"Sorry, I've got the only one," Arthur replies with a forced smile. If only she knew how many Merlin's were really running about the gaff.

"Cousins?"

Arthur makes a note to ask Merlin, but says, "Small family," and can't help but look smug as Morgana falls back into the sofa with a dejected huff.

He doesn't hear Merlin slip through the front door and sprint down to The Field where Arthur's childhood memories lay.

"I'm going," Merlin gasps as he all but runs into an older version of himself. "Oh, God."

"I know," Naked-Merlin says calmly, and he smiles. "Don't worry. I've got this. You'll be back later tonight."

"Oh, God, I'm going. Take my clothes."

Naked-Merlin laughs and answers, "What do you think I'm going to do? Stride in there in all my naked glory for Uther to see where and how exactly his son gets off?" but Merlin has already gone—he'd disappeared at 'stride'—and Naked-Merlin is talking to thin air but doesn't stop himself.

He quickly shrugs into the clothes Other Merlin has left behind, remembering the moment where he had disappeared from Christmas at the Pendragon's to end up with his mother in 2004 particularly well, and then he's running back to the country home and he's through the door. He doesn't think Merlin will have too many qualms about leaving and seeing their mother again.

"Where'dya go?" Arthur asks with raised eyebrows. Merlin's run straight into him. "I thought you were going for a slash, not... Why are you all out of breath? You didn't go to the bathroom, did you?"

Merlin grins and replies, although to which question he's not sure, "Guess."

But Arthur's already seen the difference up close. Merlin has just slightly more stubble than he left from his shave this morning and his hair is longer, dishevelled and curlier around his ears. He's filled out his features some more, but his dancing eyes and his grin are the same. They're little changes, but Arthur doesn't miss them. He couldn't miss them. He throws himself onto Merlin.

"Hey, hey, what's the matter?"

"'s you," Arthur mumbles into Merlin's neck as if he is seven-years-old again.

"It's always me, Arthur," Merlin replies, a little perplexed as Arthur hangs off him in the doorway.

"No, it's really you," he says, and then he's kissing Merlin and touching him and grabbing his hair. Merlin's hesitant at first, but he can't resist as Arthur licks his way into his mouth.

Somebody clears their throat behind them. It's a woman. Morgana. They ignore her.

"Arthur, seriously, I'd stop before Father comes down and wrenches you two apart."

They break away, red and grinning like children, and Morgana rolls her eyes as Arthur blinks away the tears in his, and Merlin stares back unashamedly.

She sighs dramatically and sweeps down the hall and into the kitchen.

Arthur pulls Merlin into the living room. He loves Merlin with all of his heart—past, present and future Merlin, always—but this is _his _Merlin, the one he waited for in The Field and the one who first swept him away.

"We weren't fighting, were we?" Merlin asks with a confused frown as they fall onto the sofa. "I can't remember us fighting. I remember I felt dizzy and I said I was going to the—"

"We're not fighting," Arthur says quickly. He's still grinning.

"I would say that I'll break the rules to tell him to look forward to that reaction, then, but I won't."

"No, don't," Arthur says, pulling Merlin on top of him. "It's not his fault. It's not your fault."

Merlin knows. This has happened once before. He knows why Arthur acts like this, why Arthur's fingers are fisting in his shirt and why he's wiggling desperately underneath him. "I'm sorry you have to wait for me," Merlin says in a low voice. "For this me. The older me. Your me."

"It's okay. I don't mind all that much. He can go forever in bed."

"Oy! I still can at this age!"

The inevitable question rests on Arthur's lips, and Merlin answers it before it's asked.

"27," he says.

Arthur swallows. "How long have we got?" The words feel like cheating, almost. He wonders, not for the first time, if he's technically committing some kind of adultery.

Merlin understands, and he has to kiss him again to wipe away the worry. "It's okay, Arthur. We have hours. I don't remember crawling into your bed until long after midnight. I-I mean, this me will be gone before then but I shouldn't think it's too long before. Matter of minutes."

"Where did you go?"

"Mum's," Merlin murmurs, still atop of Arthur, "in 2005. She's alive. She's happy. Don't be angry when he comes back and he's not too apologetic about leaving, okay?" Merlin knows from experience that Arthur won't be, but he feels as if he has to say it anyway. "He needs this. He needs to see her."

"I won't. You say you're coping with it, but... I know you're not. I see through it."

"You know too much, Pendragon."

"I know _you_. I only... I hope that you're not too angry at _me_. For—for wanting you. This you, when I already have you."

"It's okay. You need this, too. It's a fair trade," Merlin says rather diplomatically, and he presses his lips to Arthur's after adding, "Quite convenient, too."

This Merlin is much less selfish, much more giving. He's happier with himself, with his life and his dreams, and Arthur knows that it comes with time. This Merlin is better because of the boy in The Field, who 21-year-old Merlin still has yet to visit. It's a full circle, in the end, and it's worth waiting for.

"I love you. All of you," Arthur breathes against his neck when they break.

Merlin pulls Arthur close, just because he can. "We love you, too."


	10. Chapter Ten

**Monday 11 August 1997**

**(Merlin is 29, and 9)**

They are standing outside of The National Gallery in Trafalgar Square, Central London. It is a sunny August day and the city is rife with families and teenagers and couples enjoying the rare summer weather. Merlin is traveling from 2017; his younger self has come from two Fridays ago. They have a long afternoon ahead of them, and so they have come to one of their most favourite places in the whole world for a little lesson in pickpocketing.

"Can't we just look at the art?" 9-year-old Merlin's eyes are wide and pleading. He's never done this before.

"No. You need to know this. How else are you going to survive without stealing anything?"

"Borrowing?" Merlin suggests.

"You'd never be able to return it."

Merlin tries again. "Begging?"

"Begging is a drag, and you get taken by the police. Besides, have you seen how Londoners usually deal with beggers?"

"They help?"

"They don't even acknowledge their existence," 29-year-old Merlin says gravely, but he smiles down at himself. "Nice try. Come on."

They walk around the fountain. Merlin lags behind, skimming his fingers across the cold, clear water, eyeing the copper and silver coins at the very bottom.

"What about these?" he asks, stopping and forcing the tall raven-haired man to fall back and peer over the edge.

"You can't take those. They're people's wishes. Somebody's dreams."

"Can we make one?"

"When we find something to make it with we can, alright?"

"Really and truly?" Merlin's blue, wide eyes are hopeful and excited. They reflect on the water and they seem even more blue, even more clear and bottomless. Merlin wonders if this is what he looks like, now, if he still looks the same.

"Really and truly," he promises. "Now, come on. Keep close to me, but when we get in there, I want you to stay away and pretend you don't know me, but keep close enough that you can still see what I'm doing, okay?"

"Okay," 9-year-old Merlin squeaks.

"If I hand you anything, don't drop it. Put it in your pocket as fast as you can. Okay?"

"Okay," he squeaks again, and then, "Can we go and see the palace afterwards, with the Queen?"

"Sure, buddy, we can see Buckingham Palace, but only when we're done here."

"Buckingham Palace," the small boy repeats, steadying himself. "Okay."

Merlin feels bad about this. On the one hand, he is providing himself with the urgently required skills to get by as a traveler. He will have to teach him lessons on Beating People Up, Shoplifting, Driving, Housebreaking, Picking Locks and Climbing Trees, some of which he's already done with his 11-year-old self over a two day period when they were stuck in 2004. On the other hand, he's corrupting his innocent self. Somebody has to do it. His mother certainly isn't going to.

They stand in line, move through the entry and work their way through the crowds to a less populated place, for now, so they can talk quietly.

"It's not so bad," Merlin tries to reassure the boy. "Look for somebody who is distracted. Most men use their back pocket or the inside of their suit jacket. Women use the purse over their shoulder, sometimes on their back, but don't go for something with short straps. If you're on the street you can just grab the whole handbag, but then you have to outrun anybody who might chase you for it. It's easier to do it, quieter, if you can do it without them noticing."

"I saw a movie where they practiced with a suit of clothes with little bells and if the guy moved the suit while he took the wallet the bells rang."

"I remember that movie. You can try that at home," Merlin says. His younger self probably only watched it a month ago. "Follow me, now."

Merlin leads himself to the Sainsbury Wing. It is a long walk at their slow pace. Merlin remembers coming here when he was 9, with his older self, and he enjoyed the distraction. When they arrive, Merlin can't see over the heads of the adults, so the paintings are lost on him, but Merlin knows he's too nervous to look at them anyway. He scans the area. They're in Room 57. A woman is bending over her screaming toddler in it's chair. Merlin nods at himself from across the room and moves towards her. She's distracted, totally focused on getting her child to stop twisting and screaming. He walks, bumps into her, seemingly by complete accident and it sends her forward.

Merlin grabs her arm. "I'm so sorry," he says smoothly. "I wasn't looking. Are you all right? It's so crowded in here..." His hand is in her bag; it has a simple clasp and is slung over her shoulder. She's flustered. She has hazel eyes, long, flowing brown hair and her legs are almost as long and thin as his. The purse is in his hand and he holds her eyes, still apologising as he slips it up his sleeve. He smiles and backs away, gives her once last smile over his shoulder, and then he is away. 9-year-old Merlin follows at a safe distance, taking on the art of pretending not to know the older man seriously. He looks like a content but lonely boy wandering from Room 57 to 58, then to 54, 53, and finally, 52, where they meet and carry on walking to the Main Floor Lift.

"That was weird," 9-year-old Merlin finally says. "Why did she stare at you like that?"

"She's just lonely, I guess. Maybe her husband isn't around a lot."

They get to the first floor and cram themselves into an empty cubicle in the men's room. Merlin opens her purse. He pulls out her cards. Her name is Helen Mora. She lives in Camden. She is carrying forty pounds, plus change. He shows all of this to his younger self and then puts the money and her cards back where they were. "C'mon," he whispers.

They walk back to the entrance.

"Give this to the guard," Merlin says, handing the purse to the small boy with disheveled hair. It's much like his own at the moment. "Say you found it on the floor

He looks perplexed. "Why?"

"We don't need it. I was just demonstrating."

Merlin runs to the guard, a doddery old man with a toothy smile who pats him on the head and thanks him. He comes back, slowly, and follows his older self from an eight foot distance. They head through Central Hall and then the Sunley room, to the paintings from the 1600s to the 1700s. 29-year-old Merlin is looking for easy marks, and just ahead of him is the perfect man. Short, portly and sunburnt, strolling along with his girlfriend, his wallet hanging from his right back pocket. Merlin follows, knowing that his companion is across the room and has a clear view as he inserts his thumb and forefinger into the mark's backpocket. The man walks on and Merlin falls back, hands the wallet to his other self who shoves it into his pants as he walks away.

He shows Merlin other techniques. How to take a wallet from the inside breast pocket of a suit, how to shield a hand while it's inside a handbag, how to inadvertently get somebody to display where their money is, and six different ways to distract somebody while their wallet is being lifted. Finally, he says, "Now you try."

"I can't."

"Sure you can. Look around. Find someone."

"Not here."

"Okay, where?"

"The restaurant."

"Okay."

Merlin remembers. He was terrified, and sure enough, when he looks at his younger self, his face is white with fear. Merlin smiles, because he knows what happens next. They find the restaurant and young Merlin looks around, contemplating his move.

Before them is a tall man in a grey suit. Merlin approaches him with one of the wallets his older self has stolen earlier in the day.

"Um, excuse me? Sir? Is this yours?" He offers the wallet.

"Sorry?" The man checks his back pocket, finds his own wallet safe, and shakes his head. He takes the wallet from Merlin. "No. There's quite a bit of cash in here, lad," he says as he studies the money. Merlin reaches around him and lifts the other wallet from his back pocket with small fingers. Since he is wearing a short sleeved shirt, 29-year-old Merlin walks around and takes the wallet from behind his back and keeps walking, just as the middle-aged man is telling the boy how to turn in the lost wallet. Merlin takes off in the direction given to him with a sweet, innocent smile, and his older self follows, all the way through the way they first came in, back onto Trafalgar Square and they stop at the fountain and make a wish each with their pool. 9-year-old Merlin actually makes two, but he doesn't tell.

Then, they're walking towards Nelson's column. They are grinning like fiends.

They go to Leicester Square which is a short ten minute walk from Trafalgar Square, and they treat themselves to McDonald's and ice-cream with their ill-gotten gains. They dump the wallets, sans cash, into the nearest post box and Merlin gets them a room at the St. John Hotel.

"So?" Merlin asks his younger self, who is in the bath tub and fresh-faced. His hair is soapy and sticks up at odd angles, no more than usual, and the young boy smiles.

"I did it!"

"You did it," Merlin agrees, matching his wide smile. He's sitting on the side of the tub, sleeves wet from splashing his self. "You were fantastic!"

"I was," the small boy says, grinning, but then it fades. "Merlin, I don't like to time travel by myself. It's better with you. Can't you always come with me?"

Merlin knows what he has to tell this younger self - what he was told on this very day, at that age. He stands up from the bathtub and holds out a towel. "Get out of the bath." He wraps Merlin up in the fluffy towel, drapes it over his head and nods for him to clasp it at his chest. It swamps him. He has a lot of growing to do.

There is a long mirror against the opposite bathroom wall that stretches from the middle of the wall to the top of it. He stands his selves in front of it.

"Look."

They study themselves. Their hair is the same exact shade, their eyes the same blue. 29-year-old Merlin is tall and skinny. He has an Arthur, a home with him, a family with him, with Gwen and Lance and even Morgana. 9-year-old Merlin is still small, but he's skinny, too, perhaps even more painfully so. He has his mother, a best friend in Will, a brother and mentor in Merlin.

Merlin tilts his head and traces the long scar behind his ear. Unconciously, his other self does the same, touches the scar they received at the age of six on the playground, courtesy of James Bennett.

"You have it too," he says, amazed. "How did you get it?"

"The same as you. It is the same. We are the same."

Merlin watches the confusion merge to realisation in the same instant. He remembers. He didn't understand, and then he did, just like that.

"You're me," he whispers.

"When you're older."

It's a lonely feeling, he knows. It was a crushing moment, knowing that his friend, his brother, his mentor, his guide, his comrade was _him_

"But what about the others?"

"The other time travelers?"

Merlin nods.

"I've never met any others."

9-year-old Merlin, small, fragile Merlin, begins to weep, and his older self gathers him up in his towel and holds him tight, because it's the only thing he can do.

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday, 1 July, 2009<strong>

**(Merlin is 21, and 43)**

The hospital is cold and unnaturally bright for 3 o'clock in the morning. Merlin wanders the halls, waiting. His mother is in surgery, dying, and there's nothing he can do but wait. He knows that when she wakes from the anaesthetic that it will be a matter of hours until she is gone. He begged another self from 1996 to tell him, and he's regretted it ever since. When he travels back to that time again, he will be the one that has to break the news. They will get angry. They will cry. They will break things.

It's another hour before Hunith is wheeled out from the operating room, and another fifteen minutes before Merlin is allowed to sit by her side. He waits.

"Merlin," someone says, and Merlin knows that it's another self, one from a distant year, maybe one that he's never seen before. He doesn't care. He doesn't want to see. He keeps his eyes on his mother, waiting.

"She won't wake for another half an hour," his self says.

Reluctantly, Merlin turns around. This one is old. He looks as if he's been battered and mauled. He's unclean, unshaven, in clothes that he's no doubt stolen from the Salvation Army store down the down. Then again, Merlin thinks, he doesn't look much different. He hasn't slept in two days.

They regard each other for another long minute before 21-year-old Merlin says, "Do I—" at the same time the other one says,

"Do you remember when we were 15, and Will got hit by that car?"

Will survived, thank God, but Merlin remembers. Of course he remembers. They'd had a hard day at school and were walking home after a revision session with their Biology teacher Mrs. Novak when, out of nowhere, a car with broken brakes and a drunk man at the wheel veered around the corner. Will had pushed Merlin out of the way and had taken the hit. Will's held it against him ever since.

Merlin had started to time travel back to that day, over and over, when Will had still been in a critical condition, and he'd wanted to warn himself, to warn Will, to push Will out of the way after he'd pushed Merlin, but he _couldn't_. It was like being a ghost. No matter what he did, everything would go on as before.

Merlin nods. Yes, he remembers.

"You want to change the future. You don't want to have our self know. About mother."

Merlin shakes his head. No. No, he doesn't.

"For me," his older self says, "this is all in the past, and as far as I can tell there's nothing I can do about it. I tried. It was the trying that made it happen. I couldn't not tell you, that she was going to collapse, that she's going..." He takes a deep breath, steadies himself against the closed door and closes his eyes. "It's still hard."

"Why couldn't you just not say anything?" Merlin says. He has his back to his self now. He holds his mother's hand, squeezes, trying to wake her faster.

"Because I did. You will. You'll see."

His older self walks to the window of the private room, watches the early morning traffic below in the darkness. "_Immer weider._"

"Free will," Merlin translates from Hunith's bed side.

"I was talking about that with Ar—with another self. He said... He said he thinks there is only free will when you are in time, when you're in the present. He says in the past we can only do what we did, and we can only be there if we were there."

"But whenever I am, that's my present." Merlin turns in his chair and studies his self by the window. "Shouldn't I be able to decide—"

"No."

"What did he say about the future?"

At the window, Merlin turns to face him. "Think about it. You go to the future, you do something, you come back to the present. Then the thing you did is part of your past, so that's probably inevitable, too."

Merlin huffs and squeezes their mother's hand again, to reassure himself that she is still there, and that he is right with her, still. "But then I'm not responsible for anything I do while I'm not in the present."

He's rewarded with a faint smile, a quirk of the lips against the window. "Thank God."

"And everything has already happened."

"Yeah." He runs a hand through his hair. "But he said that it's... I—you have to _behave_as though you have free will, as though you are responsible for what you do."

"Why does that matter?"

"If you don't, things are bad. Depressing."

"And he knows that from experience?"

Merlin's smile is more open, like there's some joke he's not sharing. He doesn't. "Yes."

"So what happens next?"

"Mum dies. You go to Pendragon, pick up Aredian, he reads you the will. She still uses him. Then you're sent on your way."

"Great," Merlin says from the bed side. He looks at their mother. She looks serene. Tired, but strangely untroubled, as if she's already made her peace with death.

They're quite for a while. His older self turns back to the traffic, silently mulling over what has happened and what is to come, and Merlin sits next to his mother and keeps her hand in his. The monitors beep steadily, lull him into sleep, but he fights it.

"How long do you stay?" he asks, to keep himself up.

He doesn't answer right away. "A few hours. The nurses think I'm her brother. Bloody old enough to be."

They share a laugh. Merlin presses his forehead against the cool glass and his vision blurs when he stares too hard at the speeding cars. His younger self watches him for a while, considers him, wonder what it is that he's not telling him, and it's only when his mother stirs does he turn back.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Wednesday, January 13, 2010**  
><strong>(Arthur is 24)<strong>

Arthur wonders when he became lost. He thinks. Three days. He stopped feeling three days ago.

He takes a day off from university, the first in two years, knowing that he will not be able to concentrate on the lecture. He's actually doing his lecturer a favour; both parties will save energy if he doesn't turn up.

Arthur hasn't missed a day of university since a week after Merlin left him and told him that they would not meet again until he was 23.

:::

**Thursday, January 14, 2010**  
><strong>(Arthur is 24)<strong>

He takes another day off. His tutor is going to be worried and concerned and maybe a little bit mad, but he doesn't care. The grief he's feeling is irrational. He knows that Merlin will return. He has to. He always does. He always comes home to Arthur.

So why is Arthur feeling so bereft?

:::

**Friday, January 15, 2010**  
><strong>(Arthur is 24)<strong>

Arthur avoids university, again. He ignores everybody's calls and emails except Leon's. Leon is dependable, and he never disappears. He asks no questions and lets Arthur act as if he has no care in the world when he talks at great length about football. He asks no questions when they arrive in the middle of Soho and get absolutely hammered and end up sleeping on the Embankment, although how they trekked there from Soho they'll never know.

They're still drunk and laughing and throwing up like teenagers when they pay a cab driver an obscene amount of money to take them to Leon's apartment in Kensington. Arthur doesn't say anything, but he can't bear the thought of going back to his Chelsea apartment, and he has never been more grateful when Leon doesn't pry.

:::

**Saturday, January 16, 2010**  
><strong>(Arthur is 24, Merlin is 25)<strong>

He sleeps through most of the day sprawled out on Leon's bathroom floor. He wakes, showers, makes the two of them a heavy English fry-up as some sort of greasy apology, and he dresses into borrowed clothes and leaves, because Leon remembers with sudden alarm that he has a Really Hot Date later tonight and he tells Arthur in no uncertain terms that he has to get the hell out of his place before she arrives.

Arthur doesn't protest, because Leon is his best mate and Arthur definitely owes him one.

He's hungover, unshaven and unstable on his feet as he travels to Merlin's flat in Battersea. He plans to smother himself in Merlin's shirts and maybe drink some more and perhaps fall into an alcoholic stupor. Maybe he'll cook another fry-up and eat half his body weight in Merlin's chocolate. Maybe he'll sob a little. Maybe he'll break something, something valuable, something Merlin can never replace, that's valuable to him, because Merlin is valuable to Arthur and Arthur can't replace him and it _hurts_.

Even though it's late afternoon, winter is in full swing and it's nearly dark when he lets himself into the flat, but the chains on the other side of the door are bolted.

"Alright, alright!" Merlin calls, his voice thick from sleep and angry when Arthur begins throwing himself against the door in annoyance. "Hang on!"

The chains are undone and the door swings open and Merlin's face softens immediately as he stares at Arthur across the threshold.

He's older.

It doesn't matter. "You better tell me where the fuck you're hiding," Arthur demands as he sticks a finger into Merlin's chest. If it hurts, he doesn't let on.

"Jesus, Arthur, you look horrendous. Get in."

"The hell with how bad I look!" He's angry now, angry after so long of hurting, of worrying, of wanting Merlin.

"Arthur, seriously – come in. Now."

This Merlin is in yet another pair of tracksuit bottoms and, unsurprisingly, he's shirtless. His raven hair is sticking up in all different directions on one side, while the other is flat from where he's been sleeping. He's unshaven, tired and he doesn't look very well.

Arthur storms into the flat. "How old are you?"

"I'm 25," Merlin replies as he closes the door.

"Where are you coming from?"

"Lance and Gwen's wedding," he says, smiling when Arthur looks stunned. He turns to bolt the door. "But that was hours ago."

"Why are you telling me?"

Merlin frowns. "Er – you asked me."

"No, I mean, you don't usually tell me things like that, about the future."

Merlin shrugs. He's still leaning against the closed door. "You're not a kid anymore. Besides, Future Arthur already knew I would make a disappearing act before it happened, so I'm assuming that this is me warning you, so you can warn me later."

It takes Arthur a second to catch up. "Right."

"Yeah."

Arthur follows Merlin into the bedroom, who collapses weakly under the duvet and exhales tiredly.

"You wanna tell me why you were trying to break in?" Merlin asks after a while.

"I have a key."

"And yet you still try to dislocate your shoulder trying to get in."

Arthur sits on the edge of the bed, picking at the fraying sleeve of Leon's jumper. His shoulder does hurt a little. "Why was the door bolted?"

Merlin's head pokes out from the top of the bed cover and he regards Arthur closely for a moment, as if Arthur is missing something important. "I try to avoid myself as much as possible."

"Is that why I hardly see more than one of you?" Arthur remembers asking this question as a child; he'd never gotten the answer he wanted.

"Probably. I can't stand myself." His eyes crinkle slightly; he's smiling weakly under the duvet. "Why were you trying to break in?" he asks again.

"You really don't know?"

"You didn't tell me that a younger you would turn up while I was busy being absent from our best friends' wedding," he explains, his voice muffled. He's curled into himself again.

"You've been gone for _days_."

"I do that sometimes, you know," Merlin deadpans cleverly.

"Not for me. Not yet."

Merlin pulls himself up a little. "I didn't check. What's the date? How old are you?"

"It's January 16. 2010."

"24," Merlin answers after thinking fast. He sounds a little wistful and his breath comes out in a sort of _whoosh_. "You're 24. We've just met."

"You've just met me, you mean."

"Yeah, whatever – the days all roll into one sooner or later."

Arthur pulls off Leon's borrowed sweatshirt and kicks off his shoes and crawls into the bed. Merlin pulls him in, his arm curling around Arthur's waist as Arthur brings up the duvet to his chin.

"It's the longest I've been gone, hasn't it?" Merlin asks quietly into his ear.

"Six days."

Merlin's arm tightens on Arthur to keep him close to his chest. "I'm sorry. You should give him a lot of shit when he comes home. He probably deserves it."

"Is this reverse psychology?" Arthur asks, staring at the wall.

Merlin laughs. "No."

"So I will give you hell?"

"We'll see."

"Good, because that was what I was looking forward to the most," Arthur says, sincere, although now he is with Merlin, he's not sure. He rolls over. "When will you come back, Em?"

Merlin closes his eyes. "As far as I can remember, I'll be in bed when you wake up tomorrow."

Arthur relaxes, shaking in recovery as if he's been holding his breath. He slips a leg between Future Merlin's. "Thank God. I'll hold you to that."

"Arthur," Merlin mumbles, "as much as I'd like to screw a 24-year-old you senseless right now, I've got a terrible headache and I need to sleep so I can screw you when I go home."

"I'm looking forward to it. When are you coming from? What date?"

"Uh. May 24 2013."

"Oh, God. I'm – what? 27?"

Merlin laughs. "It suits you. You've got nothing to worry about. Hardly changed, apart from that beer belly."

Arthur scoffs after a brief moment of panic and nudges Merlin. _Nearly_, he thinks as Merlin closes his eyes. Arthur watches as Merlin falls into his needed slumber. He's as fascinated as he was the first time, even if his own head hurts from his raging hangover and he's still a little angry. "Love you."

"Mmm. I love you, too," Merlin replies, humming happily. He burrows into Arthur, gets comfortable and doesn't let go. "Now shut the fuck up."

:::

**Wednesday, July 1, 2009**  
><strong>(Merlin is 21, and 43)<strong>

Of two things is Hunith certain.

She knows that she is going to die (of this she's sure is fairly imminent, because she's in a hospital bed attached to a ventilator to aid her breathing), and she knows that her son is going to fall in love. She's known for years.

She first guessed that something awful was going to happen when Merlin came home one night three years ago and burst into the kitchen and swept her up into his arms and held on for longer than he usually did. He was a 30-year-old man instead of the 18-year-old boy he should have been. 18-year-old Merlin was withdrawn and rebellious and although he hugged her and loved her without question, his affectionate moments were far and few between. 30-year-old Merlin set her down and then began chatting incessantly about nothing and everything, and there was colour in his cheeks and life in his eyes that told her it wasn't all awful; something brilliant was going to happen, too.

A year after the first guess and a run-in with the 30-year-old son who was meant to be 18, her fears were confirmed when she let herself into Merlin's brand new flat and Merlin's eyes bulged out of his head. He dropped the plate he was emerging from the kitchen with and it smashed into a million pieces, and he cried as he cleared it up. He was 24-years-old. He'd grown into himself. He looked less like her 19-year-old boy and more like the man she had seen a year ago.

"I'm sorry, _cariad_," she'd said, bending to help him. "You normally bolt the door if you don't want-"

"S'ok, Mam," he had whispered back, his voice breaking on the last word.

"When?" she'd asked, later, when they were sitting at his kitchen table.

"I can't tell you."

Hunith cupped her son's face, smiled softly, and said, "Okay," and then, "You visit me, you know. We'll see each other again, _cariad_."

"I know," Merlin replied, his voice small. He cried again.

She was reminded of the time she'd found out just how special her boy really was. All mothers say their child is special, talented, beautiful, smart, but Merlin really was. It had been three weeks before his first time travel. _April 25 _the scrap piece of paper had read in Merlin's scrawl. "Just in case you forget," 17-year-old Merlin had said, sitting back into his chair, his grin loose and free. It wasn't right. Her boy had just turned six, and he was in primary school, sitting in his classroom and still learning how to write.

"And what if I don't believe you?" she'd asked for the fourth time, refusing to take the paper.

"You'll see me disappear," Merlin replied for the fourth time. "I can count on this, because you told me that it was what finally convinced you. You'll see me disappear a lot, if you think you'll need convincing further, but you'll have to hang around for a bit."

"I told you," she breathed.

Merlin's grin stretched. "Yeah. Pretty cool, huh?"

"No."

"Oh. Oh, Mam, don't cry, please. I'm sorry. Don't cry," the teenager said, and he'd vanished as he'd held her.

She opens her eyes, thinks, _I am here_, and before she feels the ache from surgery she registers Merlin's hand holding hers, his thumb stroking everywhere it can to coax her out of her dream state. Here, this is her Merlin, Merlin who belongs in this time, Merlin who she is leaving, Merlin who will soon experience the joy and pain of love and being loved in a way that a mother never could teach. Next, she feels the ache, realises that she will have to either communicate with her son by croaking and wild gestures or pull herself from the ventilator, and then she sees who is behind her son.

He is older than she's ever seen him. For the first time, she feels a crippling sense of fear for her son since learning of her death. Before, she'd felt safe, safe in the knowledge that he would have somebody after she was gone, that whoever was holding onto her son would take her place, but now she's scared. She's never wanted to stay more.

Against the window, he sees her expression and throws her a wan smile. It hides the signs of his troubled life, if only for a moment. "Hey."

Her Merlin squeezes her hand from her side, and her eyes flicker from one to the other. _Her _Merlin. They're both hers.

"Boys..."

"No, no, don't speak," Merlin pleads desperately from her side.

"Behave," she rasps. "Do... I want. Still your mother."


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Tuesday, September 12, 1995/Friday, January 29, 2010**  
><strong>(Merlin is 21, Arthur is 24)<strong>

Merlin is dizzy and there's the familiar feeling of being pulled in two different directions, but he tries to push himself towards the one that will lead him to Arthur. He's all too willing to leave this place and return home, and for a moment, he's scared, scared that he's going to be ripped into a million pieces instead of being freed from this hell, scared that he's not going to be able to get home at all, but then he's there, collapsed in a heap, breathing at last and trying to find his balance on the world.

He's home. Cold, butt naked, trembling and weak, but home.

Alone.

He gets up and drifts to the kitchen, then to the living room, the study, then to the bathroom. The digital alarm clock on Arthur's bedside reads 10:37. He's missed Arthur by mere hours.

Merlin showers. He eats. He watches unbearable daytime television and then falls asleep wearing Arthur's UCL hoodie. He wakes. He paces.

He waits.

It's nearly 6 o'clock when Arthur walks through the door. He throws his bag down by the coat rack and stalks into the kitchen.

Then he's in the living room. He finds Merlin and freezes.

"You're back."

Merlin throws him a sheepish, apologetic smile. "I called."

Arthur looks sick. He's unshaven and pale and there are dark rings framing his eyes. Merlin feels crippled with guilt looking at him.

"I had to stay all day. My phone's been off."

Merlin flinches at Arthur's tone.

They stare at each other for a long while. Merlin is ashamed, guilty, and surprised that they haven't lost their tempers, and then he realises that this is the first time he's disappear for so long and it will have to happen a lot more if they have a chance of figuring out a pattern. Arthur is so tired he can't feel much else.

"How long have I been gone?" Merlin eventually asks.

"19 days," Arthur responds automatically. "13 days ago, you told me you would come home the next night. You didn't. I can't even ask why you lied, because you were 25 and you're 21, and clearly you don't know. Or maybe you do," he muses in a dead tone to himself. "I gave up trying to figure it out. I'm too exhausted, Merlin. I'll ask you in 4 years."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Arthur says in the same dull tone, and he throws himself onto the couch and picks up the remote control. He's on auto-pilot.

"Arthur..."

"It's fine, Merlin. Get some sleep. You look awful."

"I don't want to sleep. I can't sleep. I'm hungover and I want to sort this out."

Arthur throws the remote control to the side. "Crying out loud, Merlin."

"What? I had to come back," he protests, because he knows what Arthur has finally become angry about. "I had to try!"

"By getting drunk ten years into the future, or five years before last week?"

"What else could I do? I ended up in fucking 1995 Birmingham! I couldn't call a nine-year-old you to come and get me!"

"Jesus, Merlin!"

"I'm sorry! Okay? I don't want to leave you, I never do. I can't – it hurts. I just—"

"Oh, _you_ hurt?" Arthur scoffs nastily. "You have _no idea_!"

"Talk to me! Tell me!"

"Talk?" He laughs. "Now you want to talk. Alright, Merlin. What do you wanna talk about? How awful it feels to wake up to a pair of tracksuit bottoms? How awful it feels to sit through university without so much as a whisper and then come home to the same fucking silence? How_ awful_it feels to wait for you just because I can never be where you are, even when it's where I want to be the most? Tell me, Merlin, tell me what you wanna talk about!"

Merlin's silent. He's shaking as hard as Arthur, if not more so, and tears are streaming down his face with complete abandon but he refuses to acknowledge them by wiping them away.

"Fuck, Merlin! I can't – it's not... Fuck!"

He stalks away and slams the bedroom door shut behind him, leaving Merlin in the middle of the living room.

_Go after him,_a voice screams at Merlin, but Merlin can't move. He's dizzy. He's leaving again.

Well, shit.

:::

**Wednesday, March 28, 2011  
>(Merlin is 21)<br>**  
>When Merlin comes to there's a car about twenty feet away, and as the driver slams his brakes Merlin throws himself across the hood of a closely parked car on the side of the road. The driver rolls down his window and Merlin waves at the other man with false cheer as he throws a hurl of abuse at Merlin and drives off.<p>

There is an old lady standing next to the parked car Merlin's thrown himself across. He hopes it doesn't belong to her. He grins. "Hey, lady," he says from the car bonnet as if he's just dropped in for tea. "That was close, huh?"

Her wrinkled hand tightens its grip on the handle of her wheeled shopping bag. She is as white as a sheet. "Y-you just... I... You're _naked_!"

"I know," he says, and he rolls off the hood of the car. "You don't happen to have a pair of jeans, do you?"

She's incredulous, now, maybe even a little angry. Maybe it is her car. "No!"

"Oh, okay," he replies as if he has reason to sound offended by her loud tone. He gives her a wave and with the same hand he covers his cock just as he breaks into a run. He ignores the glances of random passersby, and for a moment he wonders if they know he's still suffering from a hangover, but he realises he's past caring and he continues on.

:::

**Friday, January 29, 2010  
>(Arthur is 24)<br>**  
>Arthur emerges from the bedroom exactly 18 minutes later after stalking away. His UCL sweatshirt and a pair of jeans are in a heap on the floor. Merlin is gone.<p>

He strips out of his rugby shirt and pulls on the sweatshirt Merlin has left behind. It smells of Merlin's soap and Merlin's shampoo and _Merlin_. He picks up the jeans, folds them, hangs them over the back of the sofa and then he goes back into the bedroom.

:::

**Wednesday, March 28, 2011  
>(Merlin is 21)<br>**  
>He's just mugged an unfortunate looking man for his phone, his wallet, shirt, black leather jacket, jeans and red Converse trainers. The shoes are one size too big for him, but Merlin figures that it's better than one size too small. He leaves the man in the alley and doesn't feel too guilty about it, because the man is James Bennett and Merlin's always wanted to get some sort of revenge on the git.<p>

James has—_had_—an iPhone, which is useless to Merlin. Arthur has one, though, so Merlin at least knows how to turn it off. He puts it in the inside pocket of the jacket and rifles through the wallet. There is thirty pounds in notes, plus change that makes up another ten, and there's ID cards and a bank card that Merlin bends in half, snaps, and throws in the bin as he walks away from the High Street. For the first time since arriving wherever it is he's arrived, Merlin laughs at the thought of the time, patience and effort it will take to get the cards cancelled and reissued.

He's somewhere in Greater London, which is better than Birmingham. Of this he is sure, because he remembers walking along the same High Street he's just turned off with his mother when he was younger, although the name of his exact location keeps escaping his memory just as he's about to grab onto it. He's not too far from his childhood home; his Battersea flat is further out. He considers running, but he's tired, and he wants to go home to his place with Arthur in Chelsea, his real home, and sort things out.

He goes into the newsagents on a corner he's found and looks for their local paper. Fulham. He's in Fulham. It's about a 10 minute drive from Battersea and about a 20 minute drive from Richmond. He considers dropping in on Gwen and Lance, but he doesn't know if Lance has come home from Afghanistan yet and he'd probably feel guilty either way. His best option is to keep going and to will himself back to Arthur.

Next, he checks the date of the local paper on the stand. _March 28, 2011._It's his twenty-third birthday. Happy Birthday.

He can't drop in on Gwen and Lance. He can't drop in on Arthur, for obvious reasons. He considers his Battersea flat. Would he spend it there?

He doesn't do any of that. He finds his way to Hammersmith with the money he's stolen from James Bennett and he goes to _The Swan_.

It's a Wednesday and it's early afternoon, so there are only about twenty or so people in the pub, counting Freya, one of the barmaids; Merlin doesn't have time to do a headcount. He's here for a drink, even though it's technically not his birthday for two months, but he disregards this fact.

"Happy Birthday, Em!" Freya hollers excitedly from the other end of the bar. "I'll be with you in a minute!"

He waits until she finishes pulling a pint for a stocky bald man. She comes over, beams at him and says, "I didn't expect to see you today." Her grin twists into something awful. "I didn't expect to see you ever again, actually."

"Plans got cancelled," he lies.

"What you doing later?" she asks. She leans forward and props herself up against the bar and gives him an eyeful of her cleavage. He's suddenly struck with the realisation that he's unsure if she knows he is gay or not.

"My newest plans are to get extremely drunk. Did you have something in mind?"

"Well, if you're not too drunk you could come to mine, and if you're not dead when you wake up tomorrow you can do me a huge favour and come to Sunday dinner at my parents' place in Ashford on the weekend and answer to the name of Edwin."

"God, Fray. I'm suicidal thinking about it."

Freya leans further over the bar. "C'mon, Em! Help me out."

"Sorry. No. What happens when they start hounding you with 'Whatever happened to that nice young man you were dating?' And what happens after they meet the real Edwin?"

Freya pulls another face and pulls herself back. "I don't think I'll have to worry about that."

She goes to tend to some other customers that look suspiciously underage. Merlin thinks that she is the worst barmaid ever because she's left him without a drink, but she redeems herself when she kicks the underage boys out and comes back to him and hands him a whiskey without having to be asked.

"On the house," she says. She's probably trying to butter him up. It isn't going to work.

"Cheers," Merlin says.

"To sweeten the deal, I'll perform Triple X sex acts on you that you've never even heard of."

Merlin manages to gulp the whiskey down the right hole, but coughs a little and regards her. "Freya. I'm gay."

"I know," she says, ignoring Merlin's wide eyes that follow. "But maybe you're only half."

"You're impossible."

She winks at him and pours him another whiskey. She waves away the ten pound note he offers her and then begins performing some elaborate moves with some bottles he doesn't recognise, mixing some sort of concoction into a tall glass. She sets it in front of him.

"On the house?" he guesses.

"You got it," she replies, and he takes a sip.

"What is it?"

Freya smiles an evil little smile. "Something I invented. Happy Birthday."

"Thanks." He drinks up, failing to correct her once again that it isn't his birthday, although she doesn't really need to know. "Who is Edwin?"

"Are you jealous?"

"Let's pretend," Merlin says to entertain her. He feels generous from the heat that is seeping into his body.

"Okay." Freya smiles. "I'll let you wallow in your jealousy, then."

"You're a cruel woman," he says, and he's not even playing along.

A few drinks later, however, she is peering at him with concern, and as Merlin dismisses her with a grunt he decides that going to the toilet seems like a really fucking great idea. He slides to the floor instead.

Much later, he wakes up in Hammersmith's hospital. He feels awful. Really awful. Happy Birthday indeed. He turns his head and is sick into the basin. Freya reaches over and she gently wipes his mouth.

"Em—"

"What the hell."

"Em, I'm so sorry—"

"S'not your fault. What happened?"

"You passed out. I did the sums. Did you eat dinner?"

Merlin mulls this over. He can't remember. "Yes," he lies.

"Anyway, the stuff you were drinking was about forty percent, and you'd already had those two whiskeys. But you seemed perfectly fine, well, until you suddenly looked really awful," she says with a guilty, apologetic kind of smile. "You had a lot of shit in you. I call 999, and here you are."

"Er. Thanks."

"Em, do you have some kind of death wish?" she asks.

Merlin considers this. "Something like that," he says. He turns to the wall and pretends to sleep.

:::

**Friday, January 29, 2010  
>(Arthur is 24, Merlin is 21)<br>**  
>Arthur hears the door open when his clock reads 23:41. The newly installed bolts and chains can be heard being secured, and then there's the sound of footsteps wandering into the kitchen. He hears the kettle being boiled and nineteen minutes later Merlin steps into the shower. Fourteen minutes after that, he is crawling into bed, damp hair and all. He sniffs. Maybe he's crying again, or maybe he never stopped, and Arthur can't find it in him to be angry anymore.<p>

Arthur draws Merlin's cold body into his warm arms and then he pulls the duvet up with one arm while the other cradles Merlin and welcomes him home.

Merlin doesn't stop sniffing for a long time. Arthur pretends not to notice, for which Merlin is grateful. Instead, he presses light kisses to Merlin's temple and wipes his wet hair that is in desperate need of a cut from his forehead and waits for the tears to subside.

Although it's not resolved and they still hurt and there will be more to come in the morning, they're okay. The rest can wait.


End file.
